


Being Human

by MaiKusakabe



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Beginnings of the Whitebeard Pirates, Canon-Typical Violence, Family, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Recovery, Slave Marco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-15 06:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 43,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3436772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaiKusakabe/pseuds/MaiKusakabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The line that differentiates human from object appears to be clear, but sometimes it blurs to the point where it is impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Being Human

**Author's Note:**

> This story sort of came out of nowhere, and I decided to write it even though, I must admit, I don't usually write much angst. I wasn't expecting to ever attempt a story where Marco was a slave, but it seems we can't know anything for sure.
> 
> I've tried to keep things believable, at least as much as I could manage. I hope you like it. Constructive criticism is appreciated.
> 
> Originally, this was a one-shot, but I soon decided to turn it into a longer work. So far there are eight 'chapters' published, though they aren't nearly as long as this one.
> 
> This story is being beta read by Anjelle, who also helped me a great deal to develop it :)

Heavy, low gasps are the loudest sound he allows to escape his parted, dry and chapped lips. He clings to consciousness with the same desperate will with which he has been clinging to his sanity and sense of self for this long time of which he lost count a long time ago.

“Truly impressive!” He hears the unnamed, bejeweled middle aged man exclaim, just like so many others did when his ‘master’ displayed the unique attributes of one of his most pricey possessions. The man goes on and on about how he has healed from all the wounds inflicted upon his body, how he is alive despite the fact that the amount of blood splattered both on the expensive rug and the tools used on him is more than a body has. “And you were right,” the man says as an ending note to the compliments he is lavishing upon his acquaintance, “I must admit I didn’t believe you when you said it didn’t scream. I expected it would when-“

He doesn’t pay attention anymore; he can feel how they are done ‘playing’ with him and can allow himself to ignore their gushing voices.

‘It’. That’s what he has been called since the first time he arrived here. He hates it just as much as he did that first day, but has long since stopped showing that hatred. Not only  does it not make a difference, but his ‘master’ enjoys showing him that it doesn’t matter what he thinks, because he has no power over his person.

He is not a person. That’s what they’ve tried to beat into him from the beginning. But they can’t. It doesn’t matter that they believe they have accomplished it. His mind is his and, no matter what they try, that’s something they won’t take away like they did everything else.

His ‘master’ thinks he doesn’t scream because he is so broken he can’t do it; the man has never realized that is his form of defiance, his way to show him he that can’t control every aspect of him as he so clearly wants.

“Take it away and replace the rug,” he hears the house master’s voice, and soon enough the guard of six men that carry to and from his cell surround him, one of them taking the chain connected to his collar and pulls to drag him across the floor. It’s so common an occurrence that it doesn’t even hurt anymore, much less in comparison to everything else that has just happened.

He doesn’t move, and he knows the men think he has lost consciousness, his eyes half-lidded as they are every time they think he is. It has been a long time since he actually lost consciousness, but he stays still every time and lets them believe it because that way they leave him alone. The men moving him are as incapable to realize he is human as all the guests that come to the house, and they have no issue attacking him when he is not shackled with kairoseki, because the damage will disappear and no one will never know.

But it is no fun hitting someone unconscious —though they call him ‘something’, not ‘someone’—, as they have complained of in various occasions, and it is hard, very hard, to wake them if they passed out from pain. Or so they think. They don’t know he is awake, that he simply doesn’t react to their attempts to wake him because they are nothing in comparison to what he has just gone through. They have to be careful; it is their lives in risk if he does die in their care, after all.

 

* * *

 

 

He isn’t panting, not even a bead of sweat has broken from his body when the last guard falls, unconscious and quite possibly on his way to being dead, to the ground.

He hears all the frightened, frantic whispers around. The people who were watching the fight in horror are wondering what will happen to them now that the tax collectors have been attacked, their guards going down with them. They are terrified of what the _lord_ will do now, if he will blame them and slaughter them all, or if he will take any other form of retribution. Perhaps steal all their young girls, as he did once a decade ago.

Someone says to capture the assailant, in hopes that it will pacify the lord to know that they are loyal to him and didn’t take any part on the attack. No one tries, however, all of them wary of the huge man who has singlehandedly defeated twenty people, the same people that none of them has ever dared to look at the wrong way.

Edward Newgate doesn’t care what they think, he has seen and learned all he needed during his few hours here. The villagers have been nice people to him, they have been willing to give him shelter and sell him some provisions despite being so obviously poor themselves. The malnourishment is apparent through the loose, ripped clothes they wear —clothes that in most cases haven’t even been patched up—, the poverty and sadness of the village reflected in every dirty corner, every broken board seen in the houses.

He has wondered the reason for this since he arrived, because the land that can be seen as far as sight goes is green. There are plenty of fields surrounding the village. Although not necessarily rich, the people should have been able to live well enough, and certainly be well fed.

The answer presented itself half an hour ago. Two fat men dressed in expensive-looking suits came surrounded by a contingent of armed and muscular soldiers. The villagers ran as they saw them, presumably to enter their homes, and Newgate was the only one left where he had been —the sole patron in the only tavern-restaurant in the whole place— but no one closed their doors. As the men advanced on the street, people came out with offerings to the lord, be it crates of fruit, boxes full of fish or livestock. The two men in suits nodded at every offering, one of them writing something on a notepad, and the guards lifted them up into a cart they dragged among four of them.

Then, when no one came out of from one of the houses, the group stopped. The nervousness and fear could be seen on all the faces peering from their own doors even before ten of the guards marched in and came back moments later dragging an emaciated woman along with two little boys who barely looked better than her. The boys kicked and screamed. The woman just cried, her eyes not moving from who were clearly her two sons.

The three had been thrown to the middle of the dirt path that was the village’s main street, and no one reacted when the guards charged their weapons and aimed at them. The woman kept crying and sobbing, hugging the two boys to her body, also preventing them from charging at the men as they were trying to do, and they would have been shot right there if Newgate hadn’t intervened, slamming the three men aiming their weapons at them to the ground with his bisento.

That was when the panicked screams broke amongst the citizens, turning to fearful whispers as Newgate took down all the guards present along with the two men who tried to flee when they realized the opponent was too strong for their soldiers.

With all the men down, and the furious whispers he can hear all around from people too scared to step out of their homes —the woman is still crying and embracing her children and hasn’t looked up at him once— that pretty much confirm what he has already guessed, Newgate knows what to do next.

That the mansion standing at the top of the hill most likely contains a good amount of treasure is only an added reason to attack it.

 

* * *

 

 

A series of tremors shake the whole building.

The men around him, still halfway through the hallways, stop and look around worriedly. Earthquake, someone says. Then screams come from the opposite direction they are headed to, from the main house.

“The lord!!” All six of them exclaim, and there are some rapid looks and nods exchanged.

“We can take care of it,” one of the men state, gesturing to himself and the one to his left.

The others nod and, without a glance at their burden, take off running to the main part of the mansion.

The two men in charge of him exchange a worried look, no doubt concerned about the constant screams and crashes now coming from that direction, but he doesn’t pay the two of them any mind. The voices coming from there are angry, scared and furious, but there is another. A voice he has never felt before, one that is also angry and furious, one that is so much more powerful than all the others put together that he can barely feel anything else. Whoever it is, they are attracting all the others in the house, and he somehow doubts even that will be enough.

Suddenly, it becomes clear to him. He has been waiting for a chance like this for what feels like his whole life, and he will take it. Death will be an acceptable price if he doesn’t succeed because, if he fails now, it means he doesn’t have a way out, and death will always be better than anything here.

Slowly moving his hands as to not draw attention from the two guards talking worriedly to one another, he places them flat on the stone floor and concentrates on gathering all the strange strength that came with the ability to hear the voices. He was too weakened already when it came, and has always been aware that he couldn’t take his six usual guards with it, but two he can risk.

Gritting his teeth, he lashes a foot out and hits one of the men on the back of the calf, sending him down with a surprised yell on top of his companion, surprise making him release the chain.

Before they can react, in what is pure desperation coursing through his veins, he jumps to his feet, chain held in one hand to prevent them from taking it, and lunges at them, bony fingers going straight for the second man’s eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Newgate looks on with distaste at the body impaled on his bisento. He is a short, overweight man with a curly black beard, hands full of expensive rings. He had been waiting in this room —which appears to be some sort of oversized sitting room full of paintings— surrounded by a small army of fifty men waiting for him. The man, this disgusting parody of a human being, had congratulated Newgate for defeating so many of his soldiers before reaching the very well protected room, and in what he must have believed a magnanimous proposal he had offered him to join his personal guard.

The tremor Edward created as an answer was nowhere near strong enough to kill or destroy the building, but it did throw the whole group to the floor. Then, the so called lord, after staring fixedly at him for all of two seconds, ordered all of his men to capture him as a new addition to his collection.

The man has —had— a collection. Somewhere in this building, and Newgate somehow doubts that the whole thing is made up of objects. He wanted to add a human being to it, which can only mean one thing.

He looks around, to see if there is someone still conscious, but no one moves the slightest bit nor groan, and he realizes he has killed them all in his rage.

It doesn’t matter. He just has to think. Where would you keep slaves, to have them both out of the way and prevent an easy escape? The basement, of course.

Now he just has to find the entrance.

 

* * *

 

 

A string of all the curses he has ever heard runs as a mantra in his head as he tries to stand up, arms barely holding his upper body upright after his legs have given way under him. It’s been so long since he walked, the chains tied to his wrists and ankles in his cell too short to allow him to stand properly, that he hasn’t managed to move long.

It doesn’t matter that he has killed the two guards; if he can’t move anymore, he can’t escape either way, and the fast disappearance of voices in the house tells him the attacker is moving fast, and it is a matter of time before they begin to search the house —because why else would somebody attack this place if not for the money, gold and other valuables?—and find him.

He has to go, and now it seems he won’t even be able to reach the kitchens first and steal some food beforehand. They aren’t far from here, he knows because he has been taken there enough times to be tortured with the sight of more food than he could even imagine, but it doesn’t matter if his legs _won’t move_.

He freezes. The attacker is coming closer now, he can hear the voice more clearly with each passing moment.

He curses and bites down on his the inside of his dry mouth. He was so close.

Gathering all of his forces, he manages to push himself into a sitting position against the wall, the cold stone helping to hold up his body as he can’t do on his own.

If he is going to die, he refuses to do so sprawled on the ground and unable to see his killer. And he refuses to cry, too.

It doesn’t matter how much the few tears his eyes are capable to create want to go down, he won’t let them.

He can hear the faint sound of heavy steps, now.

He was so close.

 

* * *

 

 

Edward Newgate freezes in his tracks. It seems he has found the collection. Or a piece of it, at least.

There, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall, is a naked man. Or perhaps a boy, it’s hard to tell. He is young, Newgate can tell that much, but whether he is fifteen or twenty five is impossible to guess. His body is so thin that the man can tell apart all his ribs, as well as many other bones he doesn’t know the names of. The tuft of hair on his head is matted with blood and dirt to the point where it is impossible to tell what color it really is. There is a slave collar around his neck, the bloodied chain connected to it pooling on the ground, and he also has also blood on his hands and splattered over his paper-white skin in a way that suggests at least not all of it is his, just as the apparent lack of wounds does.

He has sunken cheeks, and there’s no hair on his chin —or anywhere else in his body besides his head for that matter— and lips so parched it’s a wonder part of them hasn’t fallen off.

Newgate avoids looking at the boy’s eyes for his whole scrutiny that can’t have taken up more than a couple of seconds, but he braces himself and finally does so.

He has to refrain from taking a step back.

The boy’s blue eyes are burning with defiance. There is no fear, no tears, no emptiness, nothing resembling the eyes of the few slaves he has seen before. There is no trace in those eyes of a broken soul, a soul that should, that would be expected, to mimic the body housing them.

The boy can’t stand, that much is obvious from the way his arms hang limply at his sides, how he is no longer really holding the chain and it is instead just resting on his half-open hand. All his strength seems centered on holding his head high —because his head is held high despite the notorious difference of height with Newgate’s own head— and his eyes focused.

“Are you going to kill me?”

The question takes him back. Not the words, they aren’t so different from what he has heard —what he has been asked for— from other slaves, but the voice in which it is spoken is unexpected. It is raspy from disuse, but that doesn’t interfere with the calm, almost indifferent tone the boy has used. He isn’t asking to be killed, he isn’t begging for it as Newgate has been begged on a couple of occasions.

He doesn’t care.

No, that’s not true. He c _ares_. And that is the most surprising of it all.

_The boy wants to live._

“What’s your name, son?”

He sees the boy’s eyes widen to almost the size of saucers, and wonders how long it has been since anybody asked that of him. How long it has been since anybody used his name.

The boy hesitates, and for a moment Newgate wonders if he even has a name and, if he does, if he remembers it. Before he can express those thoughts, however, that calm voice that doesn’t fit the situation at all answers:

“Marco.”

The older man grins.

“I’m Edward Newgate, a pirate,” he sees Marco’s eyes widen and grins when he notices the boy still isn’t afraid, “what do you say, Marco? Do you want to join my crew and become my son?”

 

* * *

 

 

Marco feels his jaw going slack, and he is sure the man, Edward Newgate, can see it.

He had expected many possible developments for this meeting, and all of them ended, invariably, in his own death —because he isn’t going to become a slave again, and he knows there are many people out there who would feel entitled to own him because he has been one once already— but _this_ hadn’t crossed his mind.

And he isn’t sure he can fully understand it.

‘ _Join my crew’_. Something inside Marco stirs at these words, a fragment of a life, of a child’s innocence, that he thought destroyed. Or perhaps it’s a memory of a long dead dream. An image of a wooden tree house and a crate serving as a table to draw maps comes to mind.

‘ _Become my son’_. Son? What is a son? He knows the meaning of the word, of course, but not beyond a textbook definition. What does a son do? What does being a son mean? He has never been a son, not even _before_. And it’s such a strange question.

The man before him is strange. Why hasn’t he attacked? He is strong, Marco knows that, so strong he has killed all the guards Marco couldn’t dream to defeat without getting more than a few scratches for his trouble. Why is he here, then? Why is he wasting time with someone no one has ever bothered beyond using to obtain their twisted pleasure, someone no one has even acknowledged as human for so long? The collar around his neck marks him as someone —because he is _not_ a thing or a property, he has always refused to accept that and never will— that no one should consider as an equal.

But he doesn’t ask about that, only a word comes out of his sorely unused throat.

“Son?”

The smile that stretches Newgate’s lips is an expression that has never been directed at Marco before, not even when he was considered human by the world. It is a caring gesture, one filled with pride and deep longing. He knows those emotions, has seen them before, but never before all together, and never in such a soft expression, no smugness to accompany the pride and no envy or anger to join the longing. And it brings a heavy weight to Marco’s dry throat.

“It’s my dream. To have a family.”

 

* * *

 

 

He sees the surprise on Marco’s gaunt face. It’s such a common, yet unique reaction. Marco is surprised, yes, most people are after hearing his dream, but he isn’t amused, he isn’t mocking him. It’s almost as if the boy can’t understand his dream and, in all honesty, Newgate wouldn’t be surprised if he discovered he really can’t.

Marco’s jaw, that had fallen at hearing his offer, trembles, and the man expects him to cry. Tears do gather in his eyes —not many, because he doubts the boy’s body has the necessary energy to produce them—, but they don’t fall. Somehow, Marco manages to hold them back, and the impressive willpower Newgate has seen in these few minutes amazes him.

“Why would you want… _me_?”

He sees the expression that crosses Marco’s face as soon as those words are out and realizes the boy hadn’t meant to ask that question. The man can almost tell, just by looking at the boy before him —and now his first idea that he could be even twenty five seems absurd, he is just a child—, that he is struggling to understand. Newgate doesn’t know what he has been told or for how long, but he knows what is thought of slaves by those who trade and buy them, and those notions are obviously fighting with whatever has kept Marco sane.

He walks closer, there had still been some ten feet separating them, and stoops down on one knee. He still towers over the boy, who is tall for the life he has led —he absently wonders how tall Marco would have grown if he hadn’t been forced into slavery—, but he hopes this position isn’t as intimidating as the previous one. Marco might have not shown it, but the pirate doubts he hadn’t felt intimidated at all by him.

“I like you, Marco,” he says. In any other circumstance, with someone who hadn’t lived through what Marco has, he would have used ‘brat’, not as an insult, but as a way to show they were worrying over nothing. Now, however, he is sure any word like that would have the wrong effect on Marco. Mentioning his name, however, seemed to go well before.

Marco’s lower lip trembles again, and this time he bites it. A tear falls down all the same, and when Marco parts his lips he pulls with his teeth a strip of dry skin.

 

* * *

 

 

‘Marco’.

Not ‘it’, not ‘you’, not ‘that’ or ‘this’. ‘Son’, when the man didn’t know his name, but nothing else.

Is this too good to be true? Is he dreaming again? Maybe one of those hallucinations that sometimes come to him after an especially bad day. Today hasn’t been one of these days, but perhaps his mind had decided to bring them more often.

A beeping sound fills his ears.

He freezes, and the part of his mind that used to think there might be a higher entity desperately wishes that this _is_ a hallucination.

But it doesn’t matter. The collar around his neck is beeping, for some reason activated. Whether it did because his ‘master’ is dead, because of something about Marco himself or because someone pressed the button on the remote it doesn’t matter, it is about to explode and he has to get away.

Because this man cares, or at least is the closest to caring that anybody has ever been, and Marco doesn’t want to see him dead because of it.

“Go away,” he asks, his voice cracking slightly for the first time. This is unknown territory and he doesn’t know how to react.

The man doesn’t move, instead leaning closer, and Marco puts the little strength he has gathered into crawling away. He has to get as far from the man as possible. The beeping is coming out faster, and it must be a matter of moments now.

A huge hand stops him, easily wrapping around most of his body, and it brings him closer to Newgate.

In the panic that’s rapidly taking over him — _Panic!_ He hasn’t felt that in what must be years!—he does something he hadn’t done in so long he thought himself incapable of doing anymore.

He struggles.

“Let go! Do you want to die?!” Yelling is almost a new experience to him, and he is so intent on freeing himself that his head doesn’t register what his action could result into.

“Stay still, I’m trying to get these off,” Newgate says, and this time he sounds annoyed. Marco freezes, taking that for one of the orders he has long since learned to obey in order to avoid _consequences._

He is still now, and can hear the keys jingling in the man’s hand. He doesn’t see them, because the lock is at the back of his neck, but the pirate is grumbling and it doesn’t feel like any of the keys he is trying fits. The beeping is coming so fast now he can’t differentiate between each individual sound.

Marco doesn’t realize, later won’t be able to remember when it happened exactly, but blue flames burst from his body and they envelop everything, wrapping themselves around the collar in a way that, though not completely containing the blast, when it explodes only minor burnt marcs are left on Newgate’s hands.

He transforms back into his human form without really thinking of it, too. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even breathe. He’s done it now, he showed his power.

Now, whatever pity or curiosity the man felt for him is gone, and he only hopes Newgate doesn’t feel to angry at him —he has saved him from at least very serious burns, and no normal human, even stronger than usual, would have come out of that unscathed—, and Marco hopes that will be enough for the man to simply leave him there, not kill him or decide to use him too.

There is only one thing that didn’t change when he became a slave, and it is what other think of his power. He is a monster, he has heard it for as long as he can remember, he knows normal people can’t do these things. That eating one of those cursed fruits turns someone into a monster.

Marco turns, if only because his blood is pounding so loud in his head that he can barely feel anything, and he wants to know when the first strike will come.

Newgate is smiling. He isn’t smirking, he isn’t staring at him with disgust or condescension. He is _smiling at him_.

“So you’re a Devil Fruit user,”

Marco nods. He knows answering questions prevents people from getting angrier in most cases.

Newgate laughs. It’s a loud sound, but it’s not high-pitched, nor is it cold. It’s a strange sound, Marco doesn’t know when the last time he heard a good-natured laugh was. He doesn’t even know how he knows that what he is hearing is that, but he somehow does.

Then the man raises a fist and Marco fights back a flinch —a punch from that must hurt way more than the ones he is used to receive from time to time— but it’s not aimed at him, it is pointed to the side and in an angle that would be awkward to punch him, and Marco observes, confused, as Edward Newgate just punches the air.

And the air _trembles_.

A crack appears across the opposite wall. It’s shallow, but it is there, and a stronger tremor might have made the building crumble.

“I ate one, too,” and, at Marco’s dumbfounded expression, he laughs again.

And something he never really believed to happen —even if he wanted it to— happens: far beyond the impossible dreams he entertains himself with during the long hours of solitude, far beyond anything he ever allowed himself to wish for, for the first time in forever Marco feels hope.

He is a monster to the world, but so is Edward Newgate. The man isn’t angry, he isn’t disgusted; he is laughing, and he still hasn’t let go of Marco. It’s not a painful hold, either, and it is the only reason why Marco hasn’t crumbled to the ground at this point. The man keeping him up has not only offered to take him away, he has _saved_ him. Because that tremor wasn’t unlike the one that shook the manor earlier, the one that had those four guards dash away and allowed Marco to escape.

And that is why Marco allows himself to hope, just this once, that something might go well.

He doesn’t wait, he might change his mind, second-guess himself, and so he raises his head to look the man in the eye.

“I want to join your crew.”

 

* * *

 

 

He grins. He just can’t help it.

He stands up, lifting Marco in both hands as he does. The boy yelps, that is more of a reaction than he had expected, but doesn’t voice any complaints. Any other boy his age would be yelling at the indignity of being carried that way and demanding to be put down immediately, even if they were in a state as bad as Marco’s and obviously couldn’t walk on their own.

He decides to take a small risk and act as if Marco had reacted that way. He raises an eyebrow.

“Can you walk?” He doesn’t use an overly teasing tone, he doesn’t know if it has ever been used with Marco for something that it shouldn’t, and is relieved when the boy doesn’t react adversely.

“No,” he answers, and lets himself be shuffled into a more comfortable position on one of the captain’s arms, not sitting up because Newgate doubts he can keep that stance on his own.

“We should get you some food and clothes. A shower, too.” Raising the now charred keys, he fumbles with them until he finds the right one for the equally charred collar still lodged around Marco’s neck and finally opens it, the object falling uselessly to the floor.

Marco answers his question about where the kitchen is, he hasn’t passed it before, and he begins walking in a much better mood than when he had entered the mansion. He now has his first crewmember —who hasn’t really agreed to become his son as well but Newgate is determined to earn his trust enough for that with time— and they will soon set sail away from this cursed island.

He doesn’t delude himself, he knows Marco is far from alright. There is a long way ahead  before the boy can get past what he has lived for who knows how long, and it won’t be an easy path most of the time.

Newgate is determined to help him in every step of the way. He won’t let his first son fall apart when he is there to prevent it from happening.


	2. Food

They arrive at the kitchen in silence. Newgate has to crouch down to enter through the wide double doors, but once inside the ceiling is as tall as in the rest of the house, and he can stand upright easily enough. Contrary to most of the other rooms he's been to, there are no fancy lamps here he that has to be mindful of here.

It hasn't gone unnoticed to him that Marco tensed the moment they entered the room, and he has to wonder if something has been done to him here.

He puts Marco down in one of the wooden chairs by the table to the side of the room. The boy doesn't move, but his eyes take in the whole room and his knuckles are even whiter than the rest of his skin, fists clenched tight.

"Stay here a moment, I'm going to take a look around." He waits for Marco's nod before heading to the cupboards lining a whole wall of the massive room.

He isn't sure what to do, the closest things he's experienced to this situation are stomach wounds. Soft meals and in small quantities so as to not upset the stomach — that sounds like it could work. He doesn't dare to guess how long it has been since Marco last ate, and they can't risk having his stomach react adversely to food now.

There is a bowl of fruit on the counter. He remembers the doctor telling him to avoid citruses once when he had received a wound to the stomach, but bananas were fine. With that thought in mind, he takes one banana —he'll see how Marco's body reacts to it before giving him anything else— and turns around.

He finds Marco's blue eyes fixed on him, and he has no doubt the boy has been following every one of his movements. Newgate can't say he is surprised; Marco has shown an amazing level of trust already, but it would be stupid to think the boy isn't wary and most likely fearing a turn for the worse at any moment.

He walks back to the table and offers the banana to him.

"Here."

Marco's eyes widen, and he takes the offered fruit with a speed the pirate hadn't believed him capable of. There is a mixture of mistrust and wonder in Marco's eyes, and Newgate walks away once more to show he has no intention of taking the food away.

He hears the boy begin to eat, fast and almost choking on more than one occasion.

He risks a look backwards and sees Marco devouring the fruit, taking huge bites and swallowing them as fast as possible. There are tears running down his face. Marco didn't cry when he thought Newgate would kill him, he didn't cry when he thought he had ruined everything with his devil fruit, but he is crying because he is eating a banana.

Edward Newgate wishes he hadn't killed the owner of the house, because that man deserves a much slower death than the one he had.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco brings his hands to his stomach in wonder. It hurts, and he supposes he shouldn't have eaten so fast, but it is the best kind of pain he has ever experienced. His stomach hurts because he has _eaten_. He can barely wrap his mind around it.

The pain soon fades, it seems his power can heal even something as foreign to his body as that, but he knows the memory will be one very hard to fade.

At the counters, Newgate — his captain — is opening cupboards and taking out food and other things, putting them into bags he has taken out of somewhere.

Marco stands up — and is surprised by the fact that he can hold himself up, even if he wobbles a little —, intent on demonstrating his gratitude, and walks to where Newgate is now taking packages of pasta down from a cupboard that someone of average height would need a ladder to reach.

"What are you doing?" He asks, thinking of the man's previous actions to convince himself it's not very likely the captain will be angered by his question.

"Stocking up provisions." The man answers.

He stops, and his eyes run over Marco's body. Marco resists the urge to squirm. He knows he looks like a twig, and he really hopes the man won't decide he is too weak to become a pirate. But the captain only takes a bag and hands it to Marco.

"Look through the lower line of cupboards and take any non-perishable food you see."

Marco nods, takes the bag and turns to go do as he has been told. His captain’s voice stops him.

“And, Marco, eat another banana while you’re at it.”

He is floored by those words. _Another?_

“Yes, sir,” he answers, and hurries to do as he has been told before the man decides to change his mind. That is without a doubt the best order Marco has ever received.

A minute later, when Marco kneels on the floor before the cupboard to one end of the counter to see the contents better, he doesn’t feel his stomach twist as it usually does, because he is _eating_ and the sight of the rows of canned soup doesn’t hurt as it would have a mere hour ago.


	3. Some living arrangements

Marco is standing next to him in the kitchen, stirring the pot containing the soup on the stove as Newgate fries the amount of meat he is going to have for dinner. He would much rather that Marco —so thin and obviously tired— stayed sitting in one of the chairs while he prepares dinner, but the few hours they have spent together have made it clear that Marco feels uncomfortable not doing anything while someone else does.

At least, with the fruit he has eaten and the water he has drunk while they scoured the house —and Newgate is amazed at the boy's stomach's resilience; he wouldn't have believed him capable of eating a third piece of fruit without getting sick— the boy no longer looks as if he will keel over at any moment. Barely.

With Marco's general knowledge of the house, they moved faster than the captain would have been able to do on his own. Their first destination after the kitchen was a bathroom, where Marco took a shower, or attempted to, at least. If it had been up to the boy, he would have just scrubbed himself with water — _cold_ water— and his own hands ("This is fine. They just use the hose when they want to clean me."). Newgate had to turn on the warm water —and Marco's marveled expression when he felt it on his skin was like a punch to the gut— and hand him over the soap. He had to insist again when Marco said he didn't need any hair products. It turns out his hair is blond, not unlike Newgate's.

After that, they headed for the cells where the slaves were kept —they weren't going to abandon anybody there— and were met by the nauseating stench of melted flesh and skin and a dozen chained, burned bodies.

For a moment, the captain expected Marco to break down —or throw up, as he had just eaten for the first time in who knew how long— but the younger of the two blonds just turned around and walked out the door again. In that moment, Newgate was certain that had he attacked any other time, Marco would be one more of those bodies. He didn't need confirmation to know the bastards kept him chained with kairoseki.

After that disturbing discovery, they climbed up to the ground floor, where the soldiers' rooms were. They moved from room to room until they found clothes from someone slim and of Marco's height. Marco had tried to insist it wasn't necessary.

Newgate gives his now first mate —though he doubts the boy knows he is that— another sideways glance. The shirt that no doubt is meant to be form-fitting falls loosely from Marco's bony shoulders; it is open, displaying protruding ribs and a sunken stomach, because Marco didn't button it up and Newgate didn't insist that he did. By looking at the way the smaller blond has been fidgeting since he put them on, it is obvious he hasn't worn any clothes in a long time. The only reason the pants hold up is because of the belt tightly secured around the waist, and they had to open a new hole on it with a kitchen knife for that to happen. But what undoubtedly gives the boy the most trouble are the boots. Marco has been squirming unobtrusively and shifting his feet all the time, and he is so careful that the older man wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't been paying such close attention. Sandals would have been much better, but they hadn't managed to find a single pair in any of the rooms.

"It's warm already," Marco's voice interrupts his thoughts. Looking at the pot, he sees it is already releasing steam, more or less what the instructions in the can meant about heating it.

"Good, then put it on a plate and take it to the table."

"Yes, sir," Marco answers in the way Newgate doesn't quite like but knows would be too hard to correct right now.

It isn't until the boy turns to go to the cupboard where the older man pointed earlier that the plates are kept that the captain realizes Marco hasn't smiled like the previous times he was going to eat.

It is painfully clear why.

"Marco."

The boy stops, the cabinet door already open.

"Yes, sir?"

"The soup is for you."

Marco slowly turns, his previously sleepy-looking eyes now wide like saucers.

"For me...?"

Newgate grins, deciding to act as if he hasn't noticed Marco's surprise.

"Your stomach isn't well enough for meat yet."

When Marco doesn't answer, still staring at him in disbelief, Newgate sighs and decides to spell out the message he had wanted to get across through actions.

"You will have three meals a day _and_ you can eat whenever you want aside from that. Drink, too," he adds for good measure, and decides to clarify something else to prevent possible accidents. "But not booze, you won't be able to take that until you’ve put on a good deal of weight."

Marco's expression at that moment is not something that can be described with words. It makes Newgate's heart clench, and it is as if all the air has been sucked out of his body. In that moment he knows he will do everything in his power to get Marco to be the man he could be, away from the shell others tried to turn him into.


	4. As It Should Be

Marco doesn’t mind the silence. Actually, he does like it. Silence has always meant he is left alone; no insults, no taunts, no beatings. Up until now, whenever there was someone else in a room with him, it has always been as if they couldn’t shut up, as if they have to prove how superior they are, how very _unimportant_ Marco is. Not worthless, because the ‘master’ did pay a good sum for him, but his value extends only to that amount of money and whatever use others can make of him.

That is why Marco doesn’t mind eating dinner in silence. It is true that Newgate hasn’t insulted or taunted him, but there is a good gap between that and having a conversation. Marco doesn’t know how to have a conversation, it has been so long he doesn’t remember the last one he had —slaves, back in the dungeons, did not talk; most of them were too broken to even be aware they could do so when they weren’t ordered to— and, anyway, it’s not as if the captain would want to have a conversation with him.

Marco swallows the last spoonful of his soup —he has eaten it slower than the fruit, having belatedly realized that seeing him wolfing down whatever he is given might bother the other man while he is, too, eating. Marco doesn’t want to provoke him and risking losing his newfound privilege of eating. He stands up, taking his plate in one hand and his empty glass of water in the other, and goes to the sink to wash them.

The blond is perfectly aware of the eyes following him, it’s been years since he became aware of that sixth sense of his that allows him to know what others do and even intend to do— but doesn’t react, because the gaze is the most harmless one he has ever perceived, and he simply washes the utensils. Once they are on the drying rack, he turns to see if the captain is done, but the man’s plate still has meat on it. He would have stood next to the counter to wait, but the taller man speaks.

“You should go to bed, you look exhausted.”

Marco is startled by those words, and it takes him a moment to realize Newgate _has_ to be talking to him, because there is no one else not only in the room, but on the whole ship. Still, the concept is so alien it takes Marco a moment to process it. But, of course, it soon makes sense: this is a ship, here its occupants have to do manual labor just to keep it working and in good condition, he remembers that much. This isn’t a manor where he will be kept in a cell and his state couldn’t matter less, because here, with only two people, it could be a problem that he was too tired to react in time to something.

And so he nods.

“You remember where the cabin is?”

Marco nods again, and decides, because he wants to prove that he had really been paying attention during the quick explanation of how the ship is distributed, to elaborate.

“The upper deck, next to the bathroom.”

The captain smiles, obviously pleased, and Marco feels the strange urge to smile as well. He refrains from it, because it is absurd and he doesn’t know how the man will react to something like that. He never smiled back at the manor, and doesn’t have the smallest idea of what others will think of it. He isn’t eager to find out, things are going too well to risk offending his new captain.

So, instead, Marco wishes him a good night —because he does remember some manners, even if they are so rusty it’s a miracle they even exist any longer— and excuses himself.

As he walks up the stairs outside to the upper deck —there are only two, and then the space below deck that is mostly for storage— the boy looks around, at the calm dark sea surrounding the ship for as far as he can see, and up at the bright stars he had, regretfully, forgotten the look of. He would like to stop, perhaps walk to one of the empty areas of the deck and lay on the floor to look up at the magnificent lights, to try to trigger his memory and see if he can remember any of the names he once memorized, but Marco is no idiot, and he isn’t about to push his luck. Thus, Marco gives the sky a last, wistful look when he reaches the door and enters the sleeping cabin.

It is a big space, most of the ship is made of big spaces, really, as Newgate wouldn’t fit in otherwise. There is a huge bed at the far end of the room, obviously the captain’s bed, and there are two others, these of average size, propped each against one of the two other walls without a door.

There are, as well, metal closets bolted to the floor —the blond guesses it is so they won’t move if the weather becomes rough, and notices the beds are bolted to the floorboards as well— again one of them considerably bigger than the other. For a moment, Marco wonders if his new clothes —still in one of the sacks they brought from the manor— will be placed in one of the other, smaller closets, and almost snorts at the absurdity of the idea.

Three of the room’s walls, the fourth one being the one shared with the bathroom, have small, round windows carved into them, and they let the moonlight into the bedroom. They probably would, even if only in a small measure, no matter the position of the moon.

Again, Marco feels that strange urge to smile, because this is by far a much better arrangement than what he had expected —he didn’t ask, but he has been convinced since he saw the ship that he would be sent to one of the lower storage rooms, and that was fine by him.

One of the clearest memories he has from before is at night, how he used to sleep under the stars, sometimes on top of a pile of blankets, the ground or, the last few months, on the small mattress he found abandoned in an alleyway one day.

That, sleeping under the stars, is one of the things he has missed most. This may be a room, but the dim light from outside comes in, and it falls on various places, what with all the windows that let it in, giving the room a welcome air his former ‘master’s’ luxurious bedroom never had.

Marco belatedly realizes he hasn’t been told exactly _where_ he has to sleep, even if the captain’s words from earlier suggest it is in this room, but it is obvious which one is the man’s bed and, the younger blond guesses, if he stays out of the way the man, who has proven to be impossibly kind so far, won’t have a problem.

His mind made up, Marco walks to the corner where the wall with the door joins one of the walls with a smaller bed and a circle of light currently illuminates the floorboards and slowly lowers himself on the ground. He would like to take his boots off, they are uncomfortable, but they were given to him and Marco doesn’t know if it would be an offense to take them off without explicit permission, and so he leaves them on.

His head turned to one of the windows on the opposite wall, the last thing Marco sees before falling asleep is the bright, almost full moon shining through the glass, accompanied by a small mantle of stars.

 

* * *

 

Marco hadn’t been so disoriented upon waking up in years. There is brightness behind his eyelids; something is on top of him, but it’s not anything heavy nor does it restrain him in any way, as his hands are still both free and one is, in fact, outside of whatever is on top of him, his whole right arm resting over the thing; but, most strange of all, he is lying on something _soft_ , not a hard surface, not the stone floor of his cell and not, he remembers belatedly, the wooden floor of the cabin.

He doesn’t jump, doesn’t stand up suddenly, because that is something he learned long ago not to do. Instead, the boy opens his eyes. The brightness seems to be the sun that is already out —it is so strange to wake up with daylight, something he has barely seen in so long— and whatever is covering him, he realizes now that he is more aware, is cloth. In fact, it is the sheet of the bed where he is lying.

This time Marco does sit up abruptly and looks down and around at himself. The sheet is now draped around his waist, his hands both on top of it and, he now notices, his feet are touching the bed as well; he doesn’t have his boots on.

Carefully, the blond raises his head to look around the room, but he is alone. The sheets crumpled and thrown haphazardly in the captain’s bed the only sign of the man’s presence. The boots are next to the bed Marco is in, and he puts them on. They bother him a little less than they did yesterday.

The captain isn’t outside on deck and, remembering it probably is time for breakfast, Marco walks cautiously toward the kitchen, now aware as well that he has overslept. He should have asked at what time he was expected to wake up, and what he should do once he did, and now he wonders what will be the consequences of his carelessness.

He is rested, however, far more well-rested than he has been in years, and a beating would be worth it without a doubt.

At the kitchen, the captain is slicing some fruits —they have to be eaten first because they won’t last too long— and Marco cringes, aware that he should be the one doing it.

“…Sir?” he asks tentatively, because he is no coward and it’s better to face one’s punishment as soon as possible. That way, it will be over sooner as well.

Newgate raises his head, taking his eyes away from the apples that look too small in his hands, and grins at him. Marco fights not to flinch now that he is being observed. He doesn’t like to show fear, he hasn’t ever shown it and won’t start now, no matter how much he is sure a beating from Edward Newgate will make any others he has ever received pale in comparison.

“Morning, Marco. Was going to go wake you now.”

Now Marco blinks, confused, because there is no trace of anger, not even annoyance, in the man’s voice. Aware that he is standing stupidly in the doorway, the boy hurries to take the plates with something yellow he doesn’t remember the name of and bring them to the table.

“Did you sleep well?”

Marco freezes, his back going ramrod straight. Here it is. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Maybe his ‘master’ didn’t, but many soldiers sounded pleasant and in great moods right before hitting him. Made their day, Marco heard once.

“About that, sir-“ Marco begins, voice steady, but he is interrupted.

“Why were you on the floor?”

The surprise comes right back. The man is disconcerted, truly disconcerted —his ears tell him that, and his sixth sense tells Marco there is no attack currently on the way— and the younger blond, after carefully placing the plated on the table, turns around.

“Because that’s my place, sir.”

The expression that takes over the captain’s face is a strange one, something Marco doesn’t know how to decipher. He would say there was pain in it, except that there is no sign that the man is hurt anywhere, and anyway that expression isn’t like those pained ones he has seen so often from other slaves and even himself when he saw his reflection in any surface. He doesn’t have time to ponder it for long, because the older man soon speaks.

“That’s not your place, Marco.”

Now he’s even more confused. Hadn’t the captain told him to go to the cabin? Should he have chosen a different spot? And why had he been on the bed, anyway? Marco hasn’t given it any thought. Sleepwalking, perhaps, would be his choice. Being in a room with beds after so long, perhaps he went to one without realizing it or something.

He opens his mouth, closes it again, swallows and opens it again.

“…You moved me to the bed?”

The captain nods.

“That’s your bed.”

Marco is so awestruck he can’t muster the energy to react in any way.


	5. A Pirate Should

Newgate is trying to convince himself that he should stop coming up with ways to kill the asshole that dared to call himself Marco's 'master'. The man is dead, and no benefit comes from the activity.

The expression of wonder still present on Marco's face as he reverently eats his breakfast isn't helping.

A flapping sound distracts him and the enormous man turns to the door to see the news' coo fly in. He pays the price —that went up _again_ — and carefully opens the day's newspaper. A surreptitious look proves that Marco is looking at him and the captain thinks he sees one corner of the boy's mouth twitch for the briefest of moments. He pretends he hasn't noticed. He wouldn't mind Marco laughing at him —he is aware of how ridiculous he looks reading such a small newspaper— but it doesn't look like Marco is ready to smile, much less laugh.

He suppresses the urge to come up with another gruesome death.

Then he notices something else: Marco's eyes, now focused on the newspaper, are moving. Not fast, but they rove over the cover page in the direction of the print.

 _Is he reading?_ Newgate could punch himself. If Marco hasn't been a slave his whole life —which is pretty obvious seeing his amazingly strong will— then it is to be expected that the boy knows how to do many things he probably hasn't been able to practice for a long time.

"Marco." The boy barely manages to refrain from jumping in place, and the man wouldn't have even noticed if he wasn't paying such close attention to him.

"Yes, sir?" He hates that word, 'sir', and as soon as Marco gains some confidence in himself he is going to ask the boy to stop calling him that.

"Do you know how to read?"

He can't be sure, because Marco is as pale as a sheet due to the lack of exposure to the sun for so long, but he can swear the smaller blond blanches. What is unarguable is that the boy’s face has become more guarded than before. For a moment, Newgate fears he is going to lie.

"I do, but it's been a long time."

The captain grins and he separates the cover page from the rest of the paper.

"Well, we can't have that." An apprehensive expression crosses Marco's face, and it turns to confusion when the man hands him the cover. "Pirates should know what's going on in the world. You'll have to practice."

Marco nods, and that twitch of his mouth appears again when he accepts the offered page. A decided expression takes over the boy's face when he places the paper on the table and bends over it to start slowly dragging his eyes across it.

Newgate could pat himself on the back for this. Now Marco has something to do, something that would never be part of the life of a slave and can help him start to assimilate that he is free, while at the same time put him back in contact with the world he has no doubt been isolated from up until now.

Marco is mouthing a word, and Newgate is tempted to tell him he can speak them out loud if that will help him remember how they are read. If it won't help, too. But he doesn't, because he realizes Marco might be ashamed of not being able to read fast, and he also hopes for the boy to feel confident enough to decide to try to read out loud on his own.

For today's breakfast, they have accomplished enough, it's better not to push things.


	6. At Our Disposal

Edward Newgate knows it's a delicate topic; he realized it when he met Marco and has tried not to mention it, hoping the boy would tell him himself once he understood he wouldn't be living like a slave here. But there are some things that, no matter how delicate, can't be ignored for long.

They are pirates —they may not be known or with a bounty on either of their heads, but the black flag raised from the ship's mast announces it loud and clear for all who sees them— and are at risk of an attack at any moment, both from other pirates and from the marines. Newgate knows there are few people around, if any, who could defeat him, but he needs to know how Marco would do in a fight. They can do nothing against the fact that they will both be useless if they fall into the sea, but knowing what powers they have available will be useful in case of an attack.

The man can guess, by what he saw, that it is some kind of logia, but that isn't nearly enough information. It wouldn't do to accidentally injure each other, either.

"Marco," he calls, putting the mop he has been using to clean the lower deck to the side. The boy is working on the upper deck because, as much as the man hates the idea of having him work when three days ago he was chained to a wall, a ship needs attention, and one can't be picky with only two people on board. Besides, Newgate has a feeling Marco wouldn't want to idly stand by while the man does everything.

"Yes?" The smaller blond comes into sight, mop in hand, and stops shy of the railing. Anyone else would have leaned into it, but the boy just stands straight next to it.

"What's your power?"

Marco freezes. He doesn't say anything, looking at the captain warily. This is the first time Newgate sees him hesitate for anything but genuine confusion about what he is supposed to do, and whatever has happened in the past related to his powers is bad enough that Marco's eyes have become even more clouded than usual. The indifferent mask doesn't slip, but pale hands clutch the mope with such strength they have lost what little color they have gained during these past few days.

"I can create earthquakes, or any other tremors I can come up with," Newgate decides to explain his own power in hopes that it will appease the boy a little. As it seems to be his default reaction, Marco looks confused. "You know I'm a devil fruit user too; using it against you would be hypocrisy."

Seeing the look that crosses the boy's eyes, the captain is sure that, had Marco been more confident of his standing, he would have said something like 'as if becoming a hypocrite has ever stopped anybody.' As things are, he just answers, a guarded look still on his face, and his words completely astonish Newgate.

"I can turn into a Phoenix."

He is a mythical zoan.


	7. Small Steps

Marco likes to clean.

It's strange, he knows. He remembers enough about people to know most would whine and complain about having to do it, trying to paw the chore off on someone else, but Marco enjoys it. He can move around, walk to wherever he wants or needs to be; it is a way to learn where things are on the ship, to snoop around a little while he has an excuse to do so —not that he snoops around consciously, but he remembers he used to do it when he went into stores and sometimes it just comes back to him. And he feels like less of a burden, knowing he is doing _something_ to help. Oh, the captain has told him he doesn't have to do anything to be allowed to stay on board, and Marco really wants to believe him —sometimes he almost does— but he knows too much about humanity to be able to place his trust on someone so easily.

He wonders if he is even capable of trust anymore.

Whatever his issues are, the fact remains that Marco feels more comfortable with his situation when he can truthfully say he is being useful, and thus he tries to be as useful as he can: it is less likely Newgate will change his mind this way.

He has found out, too, that having a routine of sorts helps him stay calm. He has developed one.

He wakes up at the same time that Newgate does and is trying to convince the man to teach him how to cook. So far he hasn't succeeded, but the captain is fine with letting him help in the kitchen as long as Marco stays away from the fire —personally, Marco thinks the captain is afraid he will burn the ship. Marco supposes it makes sense. He had known how to cook, once, but he can’t say he remembers much of it.

After they’ve eaten breakfast, Marco takes to reading the newspaper. He remembers he used to read fast —he used to own more books than anything else, before— but now he finds he has trouble doing it. He reads slowly, and some words and sentences pose a challenge. But he finds most of his difficulties lie with cultural references: usually, he has to ask the captain about something every two or three pages. His speed is improving little by little, but he still has a long way to go.

The captain once told him he should have a look around the ship to get an idea of where things are, and that helps Marco feel his snooping around may be justified, though he is almost certain the man didn't mean he could open every single box he found and rifle through its contents. He does this in the morning while cleaning. That’s because he can’t help but feel guilty for doing it, and covering that guilt with some work helps him feel better about it. At least this way he can tell that small, irrational part of his mind that always worries about being cast out that he has an excuse if he is caught going through a box or a drawer.

He rarely finishes a room in one morning: there are a lot more things on board than he would have believed at first glance.

There is also a lot of booze. Marco has noticed the captain is fond of it. The boy himself is curious about it: he has seen that it has a lot of appeal to people and wonders what all the fuss is about.

Lunch is mostly a repeat of breakfast, only that hey usually eat more —Marco is still getting used to the idea that he can have such big meals, and he is proud to say he doesn't stare at the plates anymore— and once they are done, they go sit on deck. The captain sits on a huge ass chair, while Marco perches himself on the railing, and they mostly talk. It's kind of awkward, as the boy doesn't know  the first thing about having a conversation, nor does he possess much knowledge that would help him have one even if he knew how to do it. Mostly, he asks about things he didn't understand from the newspaper and the captain explains them. Or the man tells him stories from when he was in his previous crew, before he left to start his own not too long ago.

Sometimes Marco has the feeling that Newgate has something on his mind —the man gives him considering looks often enough— but he hasn't said anything. Strangely enough, Marco isn't as wary of it as he thinks he should be. Nevertheless, he is wary enough that he isn't going to ask about it.

One of the things Marco remembers more clearly —from stories he read and heard— is that pirates are supposed to keep watch during the night. For some reason they don't do it, and Marco wonders if there is a particular explanation for it or if it simply is that, as they are only two, the captain doesn't think it would work in the long run. Two normal people would probably end up exhausted, or sleeping half the day each and barely interacting, but, due to his powers, Marco can spend days awake without it hindering him in any way, and he thinks they could work a night watch schedule using that, but he hasn't offered. Somewhere deep down, though he knows he shouldn't care, he is afraid the captain will refuse because he doesn't trust him.

And so, Marco goes to bed every day a couple of hours after eating dinner, usually after a while of staring dumbly up at the stars and trying to remember the names of the constellations, and bundles himself in the covers. It's summer, but Marco can't bring himself to mind the heat enough to not enjoy to its fullest the luxury of a comfortable bed.


	8. Worth It

"Marco," Newgate speaks as soon as the last dried plate from breakfast is back in its place.

"Yes, Captain?" The man has to hold back a smile. It isn't quite the treatment he wants from the boy, but 'captain' is a vast improvement from the 'sir' Marco has favored so far. That Newgate hasn't had to ask Marco to stop calling him 'sir' is something else to feel satisfied about: with some luck the boy won't go back to using that word.

"How are you feeling?"

Marco blinks, obviously confused.

"I'm fine, why?" That Marco dares to even ask that simple question is reason enough for Newgate to want to get drunk in celebration. A few days ago the boy would have simply answered and waited patiently for him to elaborate.

"I've been thinking and, if you're up to it, I thought we could start some training." Newgate has a long explanation prepared of why, as a pirate, it is important that Marco learns how to defend himself, but the words die in his mouth when he sees the boy's face. It's barely perceptible, just a stretch of lips that would have gone unnoticed in anyone else, but in Marco it's such a change that, if he was a more emotional man, Newgate would cry. As things are, he wants to hug the boy, but he refrains from doing so because it will still be some time before Marco is ready for that.

The fact remains, however, that, as small as it is, Marco is smiling, and it is one of the most beautiful things he has ever seen.


	9. Progress

Marco lands on his back on the floor of the now empty storage room they cleared earlier today to turn into a makeshift training room —Newgate doesn’t feel comfortable training on deck when they are both devil fruit users and there is no one who can fish them out of the water in case either of them falls overboard.

The kid jumps back to his feet, and though there are no visible blue flames, there is no doubt whatever damage his back has received has been healed immediately. Newgate isn’t holding back too much —certainly not as much as he would if Marco didn’t have that power of his— and the boy has no real experience deflecting blows or minimizing their damage. The man doesn’t need an accurate account of Marco’s life to know as much, because he is as sure that the boy wasn’t allowed to try to defend himself as he is of the fact that Marco’s pain threshold is horrifyingly high.

“You are supposed to prevent the fall from doing damage, not heal it afterwards,” he chides, trying to keep it as light as possible. Marco wouldn’t dare argue with him —and the captain wishes the day when he _will_ to arrive— but Newgate has already learned to identify that slow blink the boy sometimes does as his way of disagreeing. “I saw the way you fell. It was sloppy, you wouldn’t have been able to dodge if I’d attacked again right after.”

“… Oh.” Marco swallows. “I’m sorry.”

Newgate doesn’t shake his head in frustration, but it is a close thing.

“Let’s try again. Pay attention, you have to-“

 

* * *

 

 

Marco steps out of the shower —he still hasn’t convinced himself entirely that he can really take a shower whenever he wants, and thus he tries to keep them short even though he knows the water is filtered from the ocean and, consequently, free.

He moves to stand before the mirror and stares at himself. There is no trace of the earlier training on his body, no bruises to show the many times he couldn’t block or dodge an attack or fell, and he doesn’t feel any of the soreness most people would feel after the exercise: instead, he looks in perfect health. It is a bizarre appearance he still has trouble associating with himself. He has gained weight, and can no longer count his ribs at a glance as he once could whenever he caught a glimpse of himself in one of the mockingly shiny surfaces in that hellhole; his hair is clean, and even soaking it has more shape than it did before; his skin doesn’t look deadly pale anymore, and instead he has even started to gain a light tan. Anyone else in his position, he knows, would have a serious case of sunburn right now, but he is protected from such a thing. If he squints, Marco can even see how he is developing the beginnings of some muscles.

The boy in the mirror is someone Marco is making his best efforts to try to associate with himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco mentally congratulates himself when he successfully rolls out of the way of a kick and doesn’t hurt himself in the process. It has taken some effort, but he has finally managed to stop counting on the strengthening ability to protect himself from damage and actually follow the instructions he is given even when instinct kicks in and he doesn’t have time to think about what to do. The ability is still there, of course, and it activates from time to time, but now he can control its appearance to some extent and concentrate on learning what his captain is teaching him.

As a child, Marco knew how to fight, and he suspects that knowledge he thought had been lost is now resurfacing from some recess of his mind and helping him progress faster than he would otherwise. The captain actually looks pleased with his progress.

This is good.


	10. Lines on a Paper

Marco is just cleaning the desk in the room next to the bedroom when he sees it.

As a kid, he _loved_ navigation. He didn’t have much, but whenever he could, he bought or otherwise acquired books about it, and soon started drawing maps of his own. He loved it, and that love is one of the feelings that has survived the strongest throughout his time as a slave.

That is why, when he sees the rolled up map, he can’t help himself. He drops the rag he has been holding in one hand and reaches out to reverently pick up the map. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t sought it before, it is now obvious to him that maps are a necessity on any ship, but he can’t be bothered to care.

Carefully, oh so carefully, he unrolls the map on the desk and stares at it in fascination once it is spread before him.

He doesn’t realize he is tracing its lines until his index finger stops on an island that he doesn’t want to step foot on ever again.

A look around that point on the map makes Marco frown. There is another island what can't have been even a day away. Maybe, he guesses, it wouldn't have been a good idea to stop so close to the other island, much less so soon after everything that had happened there. Yet, looking at it, Marco starts to think. That logic may work to explain a few days of wait, but it has been nearly three weeks —twenty days, Marco is keeping count— and a quick glance around the paper shows there are at least a dozen islands they might have reached in all this time.

And yet, they haven't stopped anywhere.

Marco's frown deepens as he stares down at the map. He is no idiot, and he notices things. They ran out of perishable foods almost a week ago, and the only things they have resembling fruit are two half empty jars of jam: one of blueberries, and the other of strawberries. They have no vegetables left, they ate the last frozen peas three days ago for lunch.

Marco hadn't given much thought to it until now, because the novelty of having something to take to his mouth is still present, and the thought that people need a balanced diet hadn't even crossed his mind up until this point.

Now that he has thought of it, however, he has to wonder why, exactly, they haven't stopped anywhere to resupply. Prices have probably changed somewhat in the last few years —which reminds Marco that he will have to check on that— but, unless he is very much mistaken, the treasure the captain collected from _that place_ should be enough to buy more food than this ship is capable of carrying.

Besides, Marco may have a reason to explain his oversight in this matter, but he can't think up of any explanation for why Newgate hasn't done anything about the situation. The captain is very perceptive, there is no way he hasn't noticed. And he is not new to living on a ship, either: Newgate has told him he was a pirate for years before he decided to start his own crew.

Maybe Marco should bring it up.

Shaking his head, Marco carefully rolls the map up again and returns it to its place. It is impossible the captain hasn't noticed they are short on supplies. There is obviously a reason for the wait. Marco won't say anything; he doesn't want to risk offending him by giving the impression that he doesn't trust his skill as a captain.

Marco bends down and picks up the fallen rag.


	11. Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter, we're up to date with the ffnet updates, so welcome to my terrible updating schedule, now you'll be subjected to it too :D

Marco has been staring at Newgate out of the corner of his eye the entire afternoon. Marco was distracted during training —he still did well enough for his circumstances, but nowhere near as good as he did yesterday— as has been giving him sideways looks as they cooked dinner. Now, while they eat, he is still doing it, and Newgate notices it even more now because Marco is eating at a really slow pace, something he hasn’t done since the first few days, when he regarded food with such wonder that he stretched every bite as much as he could. Newgate is almost done, Marco is still halfway through his own plate, and he decides he has waited long enough. It is obvious that Marco has something on his mind, and Newgate has kept silent in hopes that he will voice whatever it is without prompting, but it is clear by now that he won’t. It is a pity, and Newgate can’t wait for the day that Marco will just ask whatever question crosses his mind without doubting himself.

“What is it, son?” The word still startles Marco, but he is either getting used to it or becoming better at hiding his reactions. Newgate hopes it’s the first option.

“Nothing.” Marco is disturbingly good at pretending that nothing bothers him, and the reason for it is something Newgate isn’t going to think about right now.

“There is obviously something on your mind,” he insists. “You know you can say whatever you want, don’t you?”

Marco hesitates, bites his lower lip —it’s a nervous habit, Newgate has noticed— and visibly steels himself.

“Why haven’t we stopped at any islands?”

That question catches Newgate off guard, it’s nothing that he has expected, and it takes him a moment to respond.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s been weeks. We’re short on supplies, and I…” Here Marco hesitates, and Newgate is proud when he decides to continue despite it obviously being something that he isn’t sure he should say. “I saw the map. We could have gone to a lot of places.” Marco has squared his shoulders, and he looks tense. Newgate thinks it’s an ingrained reaction in him —he can’t see _that scumbag_ taking well to anybody questioning him, much less a slave— as if he is expecting a blow. And Newgate has trained long enough with Marco to realize it is not a blow he is planning to dodge.

Newgate has no idea how to react. He feels distinctly as if he is walking on eggshells. It is obvious that Marco thinks he has spoken out of turn, and that he deserves to be reprimanded for it. He can’t think of a way to convince Marco that he hasn’t said anything wrong —he is right in his observation, but that is beside the point— not when he has just stated that he can say whatever he wants and Marco so obviously thinks there is a limit to what he is allowed to say all the same.

He decides maybe steering the conversation in a slightly different direction, acting as if he hasn’t noticed Marco’s reaction, will work better here than trying to address it in any way.

“Do you _want_ to go to an island?” he asks.

Marco blinks. Not the slow blink he does when he doesn’t agree with something, but a fast and repeated gesture of confusion. Then he lowers his head, staring down at the still half full plate, and Newgate guesses now he is thinking about the question. He doesn’t answer.

Newgate sighs.

“Marco, we don’t have to hurry. It’s true we will have to go to an island eventually, but we can still wait a week or ten days without problem. Why don’t you take this time to get used to the idea?” he suggests.

Marco surprises him by shaking his head.

“I don’t… I don’t think I’ll be ready. Wouldn’t be if I had a month.”

Marco’s head is still lowered, but he is looking up at Newgate now. It takes a moment, but Newgate understands what he is trying to say.

“You want to get it out of the way?”

Marco nods minutely.

He probably shouldn’t do it, but Newgate laughs. He has been trying to get Marco as comfortable as possible here before he has to go through the experience of being surrounded by as many people as there will be in any port city they visit, but Marco has surprised him again.

“Very well, then, let’s head for the closest island,” _that doesn’t have a marine base_ , he adds in his head. That will have to come, Newgate knows, but there is no need to expose Marco to the stress of the marines’ presence at their very first stop.

Looking at Marco, who is now trying to eat normally, as if he hasn’t just suggested they do something that terrifies him, Newgate thinks he couldn’t have found a better son.


	12. A Trip Into Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I was going to write the entire visit to the island in one chapter, but when I reached 4k I decided it would be best to cut it into parts. So, here you have it, the first part :D
> 
> As always, beta read by Anjelle ^^

The island they reach has a relatively peaceful port town with nicely stocked shops. It is a town of maybe a thousand inhabitants, and the island does not have a marine base nor are there any bases on the nearby islands. The island isn’t anywhere near the entrance to the Grand Line, either, which means it isn’t either a necessary stop for any pirate crews, so unlike islands that are, it isn’t a necessary stop for pirates happening by. This, basically, means the place is as peaceful as it can be without marine presence.

There are no pirate ships in sight, which is also good, although it doesn’t mean there won’t be any anchored outside of the port itself.

Newgate steers their small ship to an empty area of the dock and throws their anchor manually. He decided, while they still were too far from the island for their ship to be spotted, to remove the pirate flag from the mast. It is not a decision he would make lightly, as his flag is one of his greatest prides, but he doesn’t want to make Marco’s first visit to a town more uncomfortable than it will unavoidably be. If that means hiding the fact that they are pirates, then it is a sacrifice Newgate is willing to make. Marco saw him do it, but he hasn’t commented or given him any strange looks, which makes Newgate believe he doesn’t understand the significance of the action. That is for the better, he thinks, because Marco would feel guilty if he thought he was making Newgate sacrifice anything for him. It is no sacrifice, but Marco still isn’t ready to believe that.

Marco pays close attention to everything Newgate is doing, and Newgate is glad to see it. Marco needs to know how to handle the ship, and the sooner he learns, the sooner he will benefit from it.

Newgate jumps down to the harbor, and belatedly realizes that he should have thrown a ladder so that Marco can come down, too. Or maybe not, he rectifies, as Marco lands on his feet next to him with relative ease.

Marco turns to look at the ship, and Newgate sees the hesitance on his face before he speaks.

“Shouldn’t one of us stay?” Marco asks, and Newgate is incredibly proud that he has voiced his question.

“There is no need, I have everything of value here,” he answers, hoisting up the sack where he carries all the treasures from _that place_. The money is hidden in various pockets of his coat. “It’s the same as I did when I was alone.” He thinks of something else. “Is there anything you don’t want to risk leaving on the ship?”

Marco shakes his head, which makes sense because he doesn’t really have anything that is _his_. Newgate plans on fixing that very soon.

“Now, before we go, there are some things I want to tell you,” Newgate says. He has prepared this particular speech carefully to ensure he doesn’t forget anything he will regret later. “We are going to stick together today. If something, _anything_ , bothers you or makes you feel uncomfortable, tell me.”

Marco nods, but he doesn’t look like he will follow this particular instruction. Newgate expects as much, and he doesn’t intend to move his attention from him at any moment, if he can help it. That doesn’t mean he isn’t going to stress the point. He wants Marco to understand.

“Marco, this is hard enough on you already; there is no reason to make it worse,” he says in his softest voice, and he thinks he may have got Marco to at least think about it when Marco casts his eyes down. Newgate doesn’t like to make him feel guilty, but he realizes that sometimes there is no other way to get through to him. He still feels like shit.

Marco nods reluctantly, and this time, when he looks up again, Newgate is satisfied to see he looks sincere.

“Good. Now, this place should be peaceful enough, but that doesn’t mean nothing bad can happen. I will be there, but if someone tries to harm you, insult you or take advantage of you in any way, I don’t want you to just take it. Defend yourself, beat the crap out of them if you have to, or, if you don’t think you can win, run.”

The look Marco gives him is so confused that it would have been amusing if the reasons behind it weren’t so depressing.

“Don’t give me that look, son. You should know I care about you by now; I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

Marco looks stricken by those words. He bites his lower lip and looks down for a moment. He nods. Newgate can’t help but think that Marco is starting to see that he cares, but Marco doesn’t understand _why_ he does. It’s progress, Newgate knows as much, but it is still a very disheartening situation. Marco is impressive, one of the most impressive people Newgate has ever met, and it pains him to think that Marco is unable to see his own self-worth.

Newgate rests a finger on Marco’s shoulder, wishing he could rest his entire hand here but aware that it would cover Marco’s entire arm and not wanting to risk altering him with something so restrictive.

“Hey, look at me, Marco.” Marco does, raising his eyes up to Newgate’s face but keeping his head mostly lowered. “You shouldn’t think so little of yourself.”

Newgate knows Marco doesn’t believe him, but he hopes that, if he keeps repeating things like this, he eventually will.

“Now,” Newgate continues, “do you remember how to use money?”

Marco frowns.

“Somewhat. I’ve been looking at prices in the newspaper.”

Newgate grins. That is great news, not only because Marco remembers, but because he took the initiative to ensure he did. Newgate’s heart swells with pride.

“Good,” he says, putting a hand in one of his pockets, “then, this is for you.” He pulls out a small pouch that will fit just fine in Marco’s hand and his considerably smaller pockets and offers it to him.

Marco stares at the pouch, puzzlement clear on his face until he realizes just what Newgate means. He takes a step back and raises both hands before his chest.

“I don’t—“ he begins to say, but Newgate cuts him off.

“None of that. Everybody in the crew gets money when we reach an island,” Newgate tells him. Which is true, and will be true when they have more people in the crew –it will be a long time before that happens, Newgate knows it, but he is willing to wait as long as it takes for Marco to feel comfortable enough to be around someone else.

Marco, fortunately, is too concerned over the current issue with the money pouch to pay much attention to Newgate’s wording. Otherwise, Newgate has just realized, he would start worrying over that ‘everybody’. Newgate is aware that Marco is in no condition to even _begin_ to think about the possibility that a pirate crew is generally made of more than two people.

“Besides,” Newgate speaks before Marco has much time to think, “you need a wardrobe.” Newgate would prefer it if he bought the clothes with some other money and Marco spent this on something else he wanted to, but he is aware of the limitations of the situation. It will be hard enough to have him agree to this, as is being proved right now, and Marco isn’t nearly confident enough to buy something just because he likes it. Another day, Newgate promises himself. He will ensure Marco is capable of buying the things he likes another day.

“I have clothes,“ Marco argues, unsurprisingly.

Newgate sighs.

“You have the stolen clothes from some guard. You need your own clothes, shoes you feel comfortable in,” because Marco still squirms in the boots sometimes, and Newgate has pretended he hasn’t noticed him walking barefoot more than once, “and anything else you like.” He adds that last one just to have the prospect out there, so that Marco _knows_ it is a possibility. Marco still hasn’t taken the pouch, though. He is just staring at it with a frown, and so Newgate decides to try something else. “I am going to buy you clothes, Marco, whether you take the pouch or not. I think it would be better for you if you could pay for them yourself, though.”

Newgate could have jumped in happiness when, for the briefest of moments, a small mutinous glare shines in Marco’s eyes. He doesn’t, though, and just grins when Marco finally takes the pouch.

He pretends not to notice the way Marco rolls it in his hand and weighs it in his hands, staring at the small bag in wonder.

“Well, let’s go,” Newgate says, hoisting up the treasure bag. “We’ve got a lot to do today.”


	13. Treasure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s past midnight here, which means today is my birthday :DDD (I feel kind of old now) So here's an update :DD
> 
> Also, next Monday I’m starting exams, so I can’t make any promises in regards to updates until at least mid-June. I might update something, but ‘might’ is the key word here.
> 
> Here’s part two of the visit to the island :) I think we’ll have four parts in total for this.
> 
> Beta-read by Anjelle :)

Their first stop of the visit is at a bank, where Newgate wants to exchange the treasure they obtained at _that place_ for money, which is always much easier to handle. There is a distinct advantage to Newgate’s size when it comes to this particular kind of transaction, which is also the reason why the captain of his former crew always asked him to go along for them: his size is so intimidating that many people don’t even attempt to swindle him because they are too intimidated by him and fear how he could react if he realizes they are attempting it.

This time is no different.

The man behind the counter looks up at him with apprehension, and then his eyes settle on Marco. Marco tenses up, but Newgate sends him what he hopes is a reassuring look. That man doesn’t have any ill intentions against him: he is simply looking at Marco because Marco is much less intimidating. He just looks like just a bored boy who does some occasional exercising, really, because his muscles aren’t very noticeable yet and his half-lidded eyes could seem a sign of boredom to anybody who doesn’t know him. Marco is a great actor, and the only reason Newgate has noticed he is tense in the first place is because of the way he has set his jaw. Not even his hands are fisted.

“May I help you?” the man asks, casting a quick glance up to Newgate —he no doubt can guess he is the one in charge— before looking at Marco again.

“Yes. We need to exchange this,” Newgate says, and opens the sack enough to show its contents to the man, making sure that none of the other people around can see what is in there.

The man gasps, and a greedy look takes over his face.

“I’ll call my boss,” he says, nodding and standing up. “Wait here, please, sirs.”

“Why is he calling his boss?” Marco asks as soon as the man disappears through a nearby door. Newgate has noticed that Marco is relatively comfortable asking questions that he doesn’t consider might be offensive or could be interpreted as him doubting a decision.

“It’s too much money to be handled out here,” Newgate explains. Then, remembering how this kind of process usually goes, he continues. “We are going to be escorted into an office for this. Are you alright with it?” he asks, realizing he hadn’t thought about this little detail before.

Marco presses his lips together and frowns.

“I will be.”

Newgate doesn’t believe him. It is clear as day to him that Marco is even more uncomfortable now, but he understands that Marco wants to _try_ at least. He nods and smiles at him.

The man from before returns, escorting them down the hall and into an office filled with flamboyant decoration, perhaps as a way to impress —and distract— visitors, and as a reflection of the owner’s tastes.

Marco is breathing deeply and steadily in a way Newgate recognizes as an attempt to stay relaxed. He remembers how luxurious all the rooms that were meant for the owner and visitors were in _that place_. He glances at Marco, but Marco has a determined expression on his face that Newgate is growing steadily familiar with.

The man sitting behind the desk —who is maybe twice the size of an average man but still barely reaches past Newgate’s waist— stands up and greets them in a simpering manner, with a practiced fake smile on his face. Newgate doesn’t like people like him, but they are an unfortunate necessity in his life.

“Welcome to our humble establishment, sirs,” the man says, “we are honored you chose us to exchange your valuables. My name is Yaro, and I am the manager.”

“Edward Newgate,” Newgate introduces himself, shaking the man’s hand. “And this is Marco,” he says, lowering his hand to point at him, and also using it to keep a physical barrier between the two. Commonly, the manager would shake hands with everybody with whom he is going to do business, but Newgate knows Marco isn’t ready for something like this, and even though Marco himself would probably want to try all the same, Newgate draws the line at unwanted contact with strangers.

A puzzled look crosses Yaro’s face for a moment, but he composes himself quickly and gives them that fake smile, that almost manages to look real, again.

“Shall we sit?” he suggests, gesturing to the other side of the room, where two low tables, three couches —one of which is large enough that even Newgate would be able to sit on it with only slight discomfort— and two armchairs await. “Would you like anything to drink, first?” He gestures now to a small cabinet next to the seats, but Newgate shakes his head. Once, a few years ago, he had the misfortune of dealing with a banker who drugged his clients to get his way, and since then he refuses any offer of drinks or food from one of them.

Next to him, Marco shakes his head, too. It may look like he is following his lead, but Newgate knows better: food may still be a novelty and a wonder to Marco, but he would have refused it either way in a place like this. It no doubt brings back too many memories. It’s something Newgate can’t allow himself to dwell on now.

Instead of walking to the larger couch, where no doubt Yaro usually sits, he moves to the one in front of it, and Newgate realizes that he sees a little discomfort worth the amount of treasure he is going to earn. It’s a fairly common tactic, trying to get the clients as comfortable as possible in hopes that they will lower their guard and accept a lower price than the one they could ask for. It has never worked on Newgate.

He moves to sit on the larger couch, and is slightly surprised when Marco walks up to it as well and hoists himself up, sitting next to him with his legs dangling in the air because they don’t quite reach the floor. It hadn’t occurred to Newgate to think about what Marco would do here; he had only worried that he could _be_  here without the experience being too much, but now that he does, Newgate realizes he wouldn’t have been surprised if Marco had decided to stay standing, hovering in the background.

Newgate is pleased that Marco hasn’t. He is also pleased that, despite the length of the couch, Marco is sitting right next to him, and he hopes it is because Marco feels more at ease that way.

What follows is a tiresome hour of Yaro examining every single object they have brought. Newgate knows it is standard procedure everywhere, not only to estimate the objects’ value, but to ensure there is nothing fake amongst them. Newgate knows there are no fakes, he checked it himself. He is fairly good at estimating treasure’s values.

Marco is paying close attention to both the objects and Yaro’s mutterings, and he is relaxing slightly as time passes and nothing bad happens.

“Very high quality pieces, indeed,” Yaro says after finishing with the last necklace. “We would love to acquire them, sirs.”

“How much do you offer?” Newgate asks, and Marco turns to look at him. He has a look of concentration on his face that is no different from the one he sports while reading.

Yaro pretends to think about it, even though he has obviously already decided on a number.

“I would say… thirty million is a reasonable sum.”

Newgate scoffs, but he has to admit he is surprised. It has been long since he last encountered a banker with the guts to try to swindle him.

“Sixty sounds better to me,” he counteroffers. It is a higher sum than the one he has estimated, but an essential part of negotiating is to be willing to change one’s initial offer.

Marco looks from one of them to the other until they finally settle on a price Newgate is willing to accept. Yaro leaves them in the office, after offering another drink they have refused, to go collect the forty-seven millions they have agreed on.

“What was that?” Marco asks in a low voice when they are left alone.

“When you try to sell some treasure, it’s normal for people to try to swindle you. They try to profit any way that they can.”

Marco frowns, but he doesn’t really look really surprised. A normal boy his age might have been, there are many kids with idealistic views of the world, but ‘idealistic’ is a word far from Marco’s worldview.

“I’d say we have around half an hour before he comes back —that’s a lot of money— so do you want me to teach you a little on how to estimate jewels’ values?”

Marco looks at him, surprised, and nods.

Something Newgate learned early on about Marco is that he takes any opportunity he is given to learn new things.


	14. Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m done with most of my exams, I’ve got a couple left but I have more time to study for those, which means I can use some time to write :D (please, remind me to NEVER try to dedicate all my time to studying again, that was a disaster).
> 
> It’s late and I’m not exactly coherent, so I’ll shut up and leave you with the update.
> 
> Beta-read by Anjelle :)

They leave the bank with a suitcase full of money that Newgate has hidden in one of the larger pockets of his coat. Had he been around Marco’s height, he would be forced to carry it around in one hand, probably drawing some unwanted attention to it, but fortunately his pockets are large enough to house it with little difficulty.

The visit to the bank has gone fairly smoothly, but it seems the rest of the trip refuses to follow that trend.

They are at a clothing store right now, and Newgate is experiencing one of the less appealing sides of fatherhood: frustration with his son. His situation is worse than the average father’s, as he has to be extremely careful about what he says and how he says it because there is a very real risk of upsetting Marco if he isn’t.

He sighs.

“Marco,” he starts patiently, “having two changes of clothes is not an option.” He tries to give a non-intimidating, stern look. As Marco doesn’t flinch, Newgate guesses he at least has the non-intimidating part right.

“It is,” Marco says. “I can wash them when I’m not wearing them, and I still have all the other clothes.”

Newgate sort of wants to burn those other clothes. They have served their purpose, but they came from _that place_ and Newgate doesn’t want anything from there, anything that can remind Marco of it, around.

He refrains from sighing again.

“It’s not about being enough. People have more things than what they strictly need, Marco." He doesn't mention that this rule applies to people other than the rich monsters Marco is familiar with.

Marco blinks.

“Why?”

Newgate isn’t sure how to explain it. The first thought that crosses his mind is asking Marco what things were like before he was caught, and he bites his tongue to keep from voicing it. He _doesn’t_ want to remind Marco of anything related to his slavery, much less his life before that. Newgate doesn’t know anything about that life past the fact that Marco had known how to read and very likely how to read maps, too, given their conversation about not having stopped at any islands. For all Newgate knows, Marco’s family is dead. Or around. That thought is a terrifying one. What if Marco decides he wants to return with them? Is it too selfish for Newgate not to want to let him go? Not that he would force Marco to stay, but…

He shakes his head. It’s not the time for these thoughts; Marco hasn’t said anything about a family or about leaving. Marco is growing comfortable around him. Newgate isn’t going to think about this.

“Having things… it helps us feel like people. Like _us_.” Marco blinks, but before he can voice the obvious fact that he doesn’t understand, Newgate tries to explain the very complicated concept that seems so simple in theory, something almost everybody knows and accepts as true, but that proves to be very hard to put into words. “They’re a reflection of us. What we like, what we wear, it all says a lot about who we are. And having things feels good. Happiness isn’t about having things, that’s true, but having things helps us feel better.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, I guess you don’t. I can’t explain well, really. It’s one of those things you need to experience to understand.” And, just like that, Newgate knows how to convince him. It’s a little underhanded, but he _is_ a pirate. “Will you try? Please?”

The stunned look on Marco’s face tells him he hadn’t expected to be asked like that. Newgate wouldn’t be surprised to learn he had expected to be ordered to do it instead. Marco nods a little jerkily, and Newgate smiles.

“Thank you,” he says, which only seems to surprise Marco further.

“How many?” Marco asks, turning to the clothes rack they have been standing next to.

“I think… five outfits would do for now,” Newgate tells him, but doesn’t mention that he will need warmer clothes in a couple of months. He hopes that by then Marco will be more comfortable with the idea. “And a pair of shoes.”

A small grimace flashes on Marco’s face and Newgate chuckles.

“You could try sandals; they’re a lot less restrictive than boots.”

Marco looks up at him at this, and Newgate notices he seems actually intrigued by this idea, even if Newgate is sure that Marco would rather walk around barefoot. He does so whenever he can. This morning, Newgate noticed that as he, himself, dressed, Marco glared for a long minute at the boots before finally putting them on.

 

* * *

 

 

They finally have Marco’s clothes –although not before another argument when Newgate noticed that Marco wasn’t looking at the clothes themselves, instead glancing at the price tags before deciding to take anything. Marco doesn’t know about fashion or anything else that many people use as reference to buy their clothes, but Newgate still wants him to try to decide what he likes. That argument was a hard one to win.

They are now paying at the shoe store down the street. Marco didn’t need any prompting to take his time looking at the exposition of sandals and trying some of them on, and Newgate mostly left him to it. He has only put one condition to Marco’s shoes: that he chooses a pair that won’t fall off easily while running, something that Marco has seen the point to and thus easily accepted.

He has finally chosen a simple black pair, with a strap at the back that will hold them in place when he runs, and a wider strap covering the top part of the feet but that leaves the toes free.

As soon as they have paid, Marco asks if he can change and, at Newgate’s nod, kicks the boots off and puts on the new pair of sandals.

Newgate leaves the boots on the street. He isn’t burning them, after all, because he has realized they might help someone else.


	15. Interests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s taken way longer than I expected, but finally here it is, the last part of Marco’s first trip into a town :D
> 
> Beta-read by Anjelle :)

Usually a stop at an island lasts, at the very least, an entire day, maybe two or three if anything happens or if there is anything specific to be done besides standard supply shopping. Once the necessities are taken care of, the crew looks for a bar or somewhere else to have fun, and some lucky people might find company.

That was how things worked in Newgate’s former crew, and it is the same pattern that Newgate himself followed during his time traveling alone.

Today, however, is a different matter.

Marco has held up admirably so far, and Newgate doesn’t want to risk ruining his first trip into an island by pressing matters dragging him off to a bar or anywhere else that isn’t strictly necessary. That is why Newgate suggests that they go back to their ship and cook something good for lunch now that they have a good variety of food to choose from. Marco, who doesn’t have much of an idea of how these trips usually go, agrees easily. There is even this tiny, wonderful smile tugging at his lips at the thought of a varied meal.

They are walking down a side street when Newgate realizes that Marco isn’t walking behind him anymore. He doesn’t have time to reach a full panic attack, because when he turns around he sees Marco standing in the middle of the street, staring at a store window.

Newgate pauses for a moment, surprised that anything has caught Marco’s interest when, food aside, he has been so indifferent to what was displayed in every shop they have been to this far. Instead of calling him to draw his attention, Newgate walks back in that direction to look at the store window himself.

It’s a display of navigation items.

The sight brings to Newgate’s mind how they came to be on this island in the first place. Newgate didn’t think about it when they talked about coming here, too worried about Marco’s reluctance to ask questions and how he might react to the experience of being at an island, but the fact is that _Marco read the map_. Sure, he might have just guessed based on the time that had passed, but his words were “I saw the map”, suggesting that was what gave him the idea that they should have stopped somewhere, and not the time that had passed.

 _Curious_ , Newgate thinks, and wonders if perhaps Marco knows anything about navigation, anything that would have clued him in more than simple common sense upon seeing the map. He wonders if perhaps Marco learned it _before_.

“Do you like navigation?” Newgate asks, staying away from the _how_ and the _when_ and centering on the fact itself. He doesn’t want to trigger bad memories, and much less in the middle of a crowded street.

The way Marco startles and whirls around to look at him proves just how absorbed he was, distracted enough to stop paying attention to his surroundings. That is an answer in itself.

When Marco doesn’t answer, Newgate gestures to the entrance.

“Want to have a look?”

It’s disappointing, but not unexpected, to see Marco shake his head.

“Are you sure?” Newgate insists, but doesn’t give Marco time to give the answer they both know he would give to that question. “Because it’d be great if you know how to navigate.”

That visibly catches Marco’s interest, if the way he draws himself up slightly is any indication.

“It would?” he asks dubiously, and yet there is a glimmer of _something_ in his eyes as he waits for a response. Newgate immediately decides he likes that glimmer, but it would be much better without the doubt surrounding it.

“Of course. I can barely get us from one island to the other. Navigation’s really not my thing.”

Maybe Newgate is playing a little on Marco’s need to feel useful, but he isn’t exactly lying. His navigation skills are passable for a relatively calm sea where things make sense, but Newgate has been to the Grand Line, even if only briefly, and knows that there is no way he can navigate that place himself. He has known from the start that he would need to find a navigator before even considering to go to the Grand Line —and he _wants_ to go, that is where the adventure is— and if Marco likes navigation, then this is a good thing for both of them.

Marco is looking at the display again.

“So, want to go in?” Newgate asks again. “You could get a few books or something.”

“Aren’t there books on the ship?” Marco asks, and Newgate has to laugh.

“Just a guide for idiots,” he confesses. Newgate is no idiot, but most of the books on the subject are too technical for what he needed when he set sail on his own, and he ended up buying the simplest one available.

That comment draws a twitch upwards from Marco’s lips, and Newgate feels extremely pleased with himself.

It’s even better when Marco agrees to go into the store.


	16. The Navigator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As many of you no doubt know, today is Marco’s birthday :) Aside from my entry for the Whitebeard Crew Week, I’m also updating this story.
> 
> Beta-read by Anjelle :)

As a child, whenever he’d manage to get his hands on a new book about navigation, Marco would become so absorbed in his reading that he would even forget to eat. That doesn't happen this time, food is too precious to him now, but, in all other aspects, he finds himself just as absorbed as he once was. He is also pleased to discover that, as he reads, he remembers more information than he thought he would.

He is currently in the crow's nest, a part of the ship he finds he particularly enjoys, sitting on the bench, with his book resting on his legs and his feet up on the railing.

Marco is making a conscious effort to wear his new sandals. He doesn't like shoes, he didn't wear them as a kid unless it was too cold for him to stay barefoot, and once he gained his powers he was never really cold, but he understands that they are a necessity whenever they go to an island, and he figures it will be better if he gets used to them as soon as possible instead of being uncomfortable whenever he wears them. As pirates, it is only a matter of time before they find themselves in a fight, and not being used to his shoes could be a very serious problem.

At least the sandals are much less restrictive than the stupid boots were.

Right now, Marco has somewhat of a mission.

After they returned to the ship from the port town, the captain asked him how long he thought it would take him to study his new books, and Marco, whose reading speed has increased considerably since he started reading again and had already decided he would devote all of his free time to it, answered that it would take him around a week. The captain then told him he would have to take the ship to an island --which he pointed on the map-- before two weeks had passed.

Two days into reading, Marco decided he would get them to the island in one week.

Today is the fourth day, and he is already halfway through the third book –maybe he hasn’t slept as much as an average human should, but his powers take care of any exhaustion that might derive from it, and he is reading. He does a good part of this reading in bed, though, once the sun comes up and until it is time for breakfast, because his bed is just too comfortable to pass.

If things continue like this, Marco expects he will be able to get started tomorrow.

Aside from the books, there is also a new, empty log book waiting in the room where he found the map a few days ago. According to the captain, that room belongs to the navigator, to keep in it books, maps and logs, even to draw his own maps if he so wishes.

Marco can feel goosebumps going up his arms at the mere thought of drawing maps.

He loved to draw maps, and, if he says so himself, he wasn’t half bad at it. It is something that he won’t be able to do for a while yet, he knows, and it will require a lot of practice and re-learning of old techniques and concepts. It won’t be nearly as easy as reading or even studying has proven to be, but he is willing to put as much time and effort into it as he has to.

He never thought he would be able to draw again.


	17. If You Go to a Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …It’s taken over two months to update… Oh, well, sorry, I’ve really not been in much of a writing mood lately. The good thing is that I can tell you the next chapter won’t take long, I’ve even decided when I’ll post it :)
> 
> Beta-read by Anjelle :)

Eight days after leaving the previous island, their small ship reaches its destination. Marco is a little upset, he hasn't managed to keep his one week deadline, but the captain is grinning, pleased, and that makes Marco feel a little better about it. When the captain congratulates him, Marco forgets to be upset.

As it hasn't been long since their previous stop, they don't need to buy too many things, mostly fruits and vegetables that they take right away to the ship to stuff into the fridge.

Marco is surprised, and honestly somewhat wary, when the captain suggests that they go to a bar. Then he realizes that going to bars is probably something that the captain is used to doing whenever he stops at an island —it _is_ something pirates do, he remembers as much— and he hasn’t done it for over a month, not ever once since Marco arrived.

So Marco swallows his concern and nods in agreement to the idea.

They pass three bars without entering any, a lot of noise coming from the inside of all of them —a mug crashes through one of the windows of the second bar as they are passing it, but doesn’t land anywhere near them— before the captain decides to stop at the fourth one they find, which is considerably emptier and less noisy.

When they pass through the door, the captain stops, and so does Marco.

“Anywhere in particular you want to sit?”

It takes a moment for Marco to realize what the captain is doing, and he feels a swell of gratitude for it. There is an empty corner, where he would be able to sit against a wall and see the entire bar. Under different circumstances Marco might choose to sit there, but he has his strange sensing sixth sense, and there is a clear disadvantage about the corner: if something happens, Marco might see himself trapped there.

He chooses to trust his sixth sense to warn him of any threat instead of his eyes.

“Just not there,” he answers, gesturing at the corner.

The captain raises an eyebrow. He had no doubt expected Marco to choose that place, but he says nothing and moves to the bar instead. Marco follows. If he doesn’t ask, Marco isn’t going to explain. Having a devil fruit power is one thing, and it makes sense that the captain is alright with it when he has one of those powers himself, but Marco is not going to test his luck by bringing up the strange abilities he can’t explain even in his own mind.

“So, Marco,” the captain starts with a grin when they have settled on the stools –there are, fortunately, some larger and sturdier ones that can hold the captain’s weight, “want to try some booze?”

Marco isn’t exactly sure what the appeal of alcohol is —he refuses to think of his experiences when in was involved in the past— but he knows there is supposed to be a bright side to it, and that it is widely known pirates enjoy it, so he agrees.

The captain asks for a beer for Marco —it is best to start with one of the weaker drinks, he explains— and a bottle of rum for himself. The bottle is so large the barman can barely drag it out of the walk-in fridge, and he looks extremely grateful when the captain takes it and saves him the effort of dragging it around the bar to him.

The beer tastes horrible, but Marco is of the opinion that wasting any kind of sustenance is unforgiveable, and he downs the entire mug in a go. When he places it back on the counter, the captain is staring at him.

“…What?” Marco asks, suddenly worried that he has unwittingly broken some rule about going to bars or something.

“Wasn’t that a little too fast?”

Marco looks down at the empty mug.

“No?” he answers, unsure. He has drunk entire bottles of water faster than that without getting into any trouble, and now he is even more worried that he has done something wrong.

The captain chuckles, shaking his head, and Marco relaxes. If he is taking it with humor, then it means Marco hasn’t done anything too bad. Probably.

“How was it?” the captain asks instead of pursuing the topic further, and laughs when Marco grimaces in response. “Yeah, I didn’t like it at first either. Want to try something different?”

Marco shrugs and agrees. The captain seems to be having fun at the situation, and this is honestly the most harmless fun anybody has had with Marco in a very long time. Besides, now Marco is curious to see what people find so appealing about booze, because if it all tastes as horrible as the beer he will be forced to admit people like it out of sheer stupidity, or just pretend they do.

Two other varieties of beer, two of wine, a whiskey and some rum later, Marco can accept that _some_ stuff is good, and there is probably a variety of alcohol for almost everyone. But he isn’t paying much attention to that, because the captain has been giving him increasingly strange looks since he switched to the wine, and Marco wants to know why.

“…Is something wrong?” he asks, just the slightest bit hesitantly.

It takes a while for the captain to answer, enough that Marco starts to wonder if he _has_ messed up somehow, after all.

“Marco, have you ever drank before?” he finally asks, which Marco thinks is a little stupid because he is sure he has already proven that he hasn’t, but he isn’t going to voice that thought.

“No,” he answers instead, shaking his head. “Why?”

“After what you drank —and mixed— you should be unconscious. Or unable to stay upright, at the very least.”

“Really?” Marco asks, looking down at his empty glass, then back up at the captain. “I’m fine.”

“I see that,” the captain says. Then, a look of realization dawns on his face. He begins to grin. “Well, _of course_.” Much to Marco’s confusion, he bursts out laughing.

Before Marco can ask what has just happened, or what is so amusing, the entrance doors slam against the walls with enough force to draw the attention of the entire bar.

Silence falls.

A huge man, of around the same height as Marco’s captain, stands at the open entrance. He walks into the bar without saying a word, followed by three men of a more average height. They are coming to the bar, and Marco notices people all over the place averting their eyes, probably worried about the menacing air surrounding them. Marco follows them with his eyes, unable to avoid thinking that his captain can be ten times scarier without any need to put on such a show.

A quick scan of the group shows that they are pirates. All of them have the same jolly roger sewn somewhere into their clothes.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, one of them notices Marco scrutiny.

“What are you looking at, pipsqueak?”

Marco freezes. This is the first time in weeks that someone aside from the captain has addressed him directly. Both of them? Sure, but Marco alone? No, not since… And Marco knows that tone. Last time someone addressed him in that tone, Marco ended up with five broken ribs, and before that was the boiling oil, and _before_ that…

Marco shakes his head violently, because he is _not there_ and he isn’t going to think about it.

Around them, people have scurried out of their seats, and the bar is considerably emptier than it was before. His captain is standing, facing the four men, and suddenly Marco realizes that there is going to be a fight.

_“If someone tries to harm you, insult you or take advantage of you in any way, I don’t want you to just take it. Defend yourself, beat the crap out of them if you have to, or, if you don’t think you can win, run.”_

Marco stands up. He isn’t sure if he does it because he doesn’t want to disappoint his captain, or because he is _so sick_ of being unable to defend himself, but the fact remains that he rises to his feet.

The man that spoke before gives him a disdainful look.

“You gonna fight, pipsqueak?”

Marco would have punched him anyway, but the mocking voice he speaks in makes Marco unconsciously use the strengthening ability, and the man crashes through three tables before hitting the wall.

 

* * *

 

 

Right now, Edward Newgate is the proudest father in the world.

They are back at sea, having left the bar and the island after some terrified citizens called in the authorities —Newgate didn’t feel that pounding their way through an entire marine ship was the best idea when it wasn’t necessary— and he is taking care of an annoying cut on his forearm.

Marco is sitting on the railing, legs swinging in the air as he observes attentively Newgate’s quick patchwork. Had he been anyone else, he would have a broken nose and three cuts right now, but looking at Marco nobody would guess he has just been to a bar fight.

Newgate had been ready to kill those men after that idiot insulted Marco, but then Marco stood up and _defended himself_.

That was one of the most satisfying sights Newgate has seen in a long time.

He knows Marco won’t like to have much attention drawn to it —Marco has trouble accepting praise— so Newgate limits himself to a grin. Marco smiles slightly back in response.

Newgate is _so damn proud_.


	18. The Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is here and so are some updates. Originally I was going to post tomorrow, but given how things have started to go south already, I think I’ll need some comment-shaped cheering up by the time dinner is over. So I decided to post earlier.
> 
> This is a relatively long chapter as far as this story is concerned. And an important one, too. I hope you like it :)
> 
> Beta-read by Anjelle :)

Newgate has been thinking about this ever since… well, the honest answer would be since the very first day that he met Marco, but he has been thinking about it _more seriously_ since they started training. The incident a few days ago —and damn, he is _so proud_ of Marco for that— only brought it to the forefront of his mind.

There is something they have been neglecting.

He knows. It became painfully obvious that first day that Marco has some serious issues regarding his devil fruit powers. He doesn’t know the details —Marco has never talked about it, he only told Newgate what he could do when Newgate asked him, and wasn’t pleased about it, and Newgate isn’t sure he ever will— but he has seen enough to have a pretty damn good idea of where Marco’s issues come from and how they came to be.

Newgate has grown very proficient at pushing his murderous impulses to the back of his mind in the last few weeks.

The fact remains, however, that Marco makes a point of avoiding using his powers, which only come into action in what clearly are involuntary events, like the time Marco cut his finger while peeling a potato or when those assholes —who got their asses handed to them afterwards— managed to land a few blows back at the bar. In each of those occasions Marco looked annoyed, ashamed even, when blue flames sprang to life over the damaged area to heal it.

That cannot continue.

Marco’s devil fruit power is _amazing_ , one of the most incredible and beautiful things Newgate has ever witnessed, and it has potential. A lot of potential. It isn’t only the healing, it is also the wings. Because Marco can fly, or so Newgate thinks. And he can only think, because he has never _seen_ Marco fly. Which is, admittedly, very worrying. Marco isn’t afraid of heights, he jumps down from the crow’s nest every time he is up there, which is often, without any care, and that takes Newgate back to Marco’s reluctance —though maybe aversion would be a better word here— to use his powers.

That reluctance has to go.

They are pirates, they are bound to get into dangerous situations and a lot of fights. It is too dangerous for Marco to stop to glare at his flames every time his powers come into action. He lowers his guard when he does that. Marco may be able to recover from most attacks, but that doesn’t make him invulnerable. Someone could catch him with an attack that actually has some effect on him when he is distracted. It could be a weapon made of kairoseki, or perhaps a haki user, and Newgate doesn’t want to think of what would happen if that ever comes to play.

That is one of the reasons why he has decided to do this, as uncomfortable and potentially disastrous as he knows it will be. The other is that he can’t stand the knowledge that Marco hates a part of himself, such a _good_ part of himself, because some asshole saw it as a great party trick.

“Marco,” Newgate calls, up towards the crow’s nest. Marco _really_ likes being up there, which only strengthens Newgate’s belief that he would love to fly if only he stopped hating his own power so much.

“Yeah?” Marco asks, the upper half of his body appearing over the railing to look down at him. He is holding a book to his chest, and Newgate is half convinced he has memorized that thing by now. He only has three books on navigation to read, after all, and he does it at nearly every free moment he has.

“Can you come down here?”

And there is the careless jump down, an action that would disconcert most people by the sheer disregard for his safety with which Marco does it. As if falling from that height wouldn’t kill most average humans. Then again, Marco is anything but average.

“Is something wrong?” Marco asks, worried, but the fact that he even asks, and he doesn’t look apprehensive about it anymore, pleases Newgate. Sometime along the way, Marco started to trust him. It’s the best feeling in the world.

“No, I just want to talk to you,” Newgate answers, and gestures to the railing. Marco has a preference for sitting there instead of a chair or even the steps.

Marco hops on the railing, balances his book on top of a leg and looks at him expectantly.

“I’m thinking we should expand on your training.”

There is a gleam to Marco’s eyes, the tiny quirk that isn’t quite a smile tugs at his lips, and he leans forward in anticipation.

“A weapon?” he asks, and his eyes slide briefly to where Newgate’s bisento rests against a wall.

It’s not a bad idea, really, it would be good if Marco knew how to handle a gun and a sword, just in case, but not today. He will keep it in mind, though.

He hates that he is about to ruin Marco’s excitement. That is a good look on him.

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

“Then?” Marco asks, frowning slightly, but the look in his eyes is still there.

“Your powers.”

He knows it is just his mind, but Newgate can almost see the physical representation of the walls coming up around Marco. Marco tenses for the barest of moments, before he leans back and visibly forces his body to relax.

“I don’t understand,” he says, and the hand that has, up until that point, been resting casually on the book is now clutching its hard cover. “I heal when I’m hurt, that’s it. I don’t see what else that thing can do in battle.”

‘That thing’. It hurts almost physically to hear Marco refer to his powers like that. The way he speaks that sentence, it is as if his powers are a disease, an undesirable condition he can’t get rid of.

To him, they probably are.

Newgate forces himself to stay calm. He wants to chase that notion away from Marco’s mind, wants to prove that it isn’t true, that whatever happened to him, his powers aren’t a disease or a curse. But he doesn’t, because he knows that he can’t force Marco to see things differently now, that trying to _force_ anything is the single worst approach he can take with Marco.

He doesn’t want this to be any worse than it will inevitably be, and to that end, he has to be extremely careful.

“Marco,” he starts, gently, “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to.” That goes first because Marco needs to understand that Newgate won’t make him use his powers if Marco really doesn’t want to, “I just want you to understand that your power can be really useful, if you learn to use it. I want you to be able to use everything you have if you need to.”

He doesn’t mention how Marco reacts when his power comes into action because he knows that, right now, Marco will see that as Newgate stating he is weak.

“I still don’t see what that can do,” Marco insists defensively, “it doesn’t give me enhanced strength or anything, like other Zoan fruits do.”

It is impressive, really, that Marco knows that little tidbit about devil fruits when it is so hard to come across any information on them outside of the Grand Line, but Newgate won’t let himself be distracted by it.

“You could fly,” he points out instead, “that would give you an advantage over many enemies.”

Again, Marco tenses, bites the inside of his left cheek and looks down. Newgate has the feeling he has said something wrong, something _very_ wrong, when his intention had been to draw attention to the aspect of his power that he thinks Marco would be less opposed to.

Before he can say anything —apologize? Move on to a different argument?— Marco speaks.

“I don’t know how to do that.” It is barely a whisper.

And, suddenly, Newgate understands. For all that _that fucking bastard_ had been so fascinated with Marco’s power, there is no way he would have allowed him to fly. Because to fly would mean giving him more freedom than Marco was allowed —Newgate hadn’t seen him chained, but he had seen the amount of chains by the guards Marco had killed when he had passed them— and it would no doubt have required that Marco was healthier than he had been when they met, if he had to be able to stay in the air.

It would have meant giving him a chance to escape.

“Just… think about it,” Newgate asks, out of any other argument he can use, and unwilling to make Marco feel any more uncomfortable.

It has just crossed his mind that any other teen, any other person really, would have stormed away from the conversation by now, but Marco hasn’t. Instead, he is sitting there, one hand wrapped around the railing so tightly that his knuckles have gone white while the other, knuckles just as white, clutches his book as he stares down at the floor.

“I won’t make you do it, I promise,” Newgate insists, because he is no longer sure Marco believes he won’t.

He wants to comfort him, wants to stand up, take the few steps that separate them —only one for him, probably— and hug him; to pick Marco up, place him on his lap and hold him close until Marco finally understands that he really, truly cares, and would never hurt him.

But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t know how Marco will react, because the only time he allowed himself to be held was that first day, when he was too weak to walk on his own, and ever since then he has shown no sign, not even a tiny aborted gesture, that says he would welcome that kind of comfort.

Before they met, Marco probably hadn’t experienced any physical contact that wasn’t meant to hurt him in a very long time.


	19. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, guys! :D
> 
> I’m posting some updates for the occasion :) Now, I know I have some comments left to answer, but I haven’t had much time to be online these past few days (the only reason I’m posting anything is because I’ve had my holiday updates ready for over a week). My mom’s been at the hospital for the last four days and, while she’s back home for tonight (she’s asleep now), she has to go back to get an urgent surgery on Sunday. So I haven’t been around, and probably won’t be for a while. Depends on how things turn out :/
> 
> Beta-read by Anjelle :)

The navigator's room is a large place. All of the rooms in the ship are, really, for they are meant to be comfortable for a man as tall as the captain, and that means the navigator's room is a wide, rectangular space with a high ceiling and large round windows lined in two rows across two walls of the room, letting light in at almost any time of the day.

It is not the crow's nest, but it is nonetheless a good place to be.

Marco is here because being at the crow's nest means being outside, at a place visible from most of the ship and close to the chair where the captain likes to sit.

Marco doesn't want to be near the captain, he doesn't want to risk a conversation like the one from yesterday. He is that much of a coward.

Marco knows, he really does, that the captain means it when he says that he won't force Marco to do anything, but he also knows that it doesn't change the fact that the captain _wants_ him to do it. That Marco is disappointing him with his refusal.

Marco doesn't want to disappoint his captain, but...

He looks down at his hands, at the slightly tanned, apparently normal hands that are not at all calloused despite the fact that they should be at least a little due to the manual labor he does on board, and concentrates.

Blue fire sprouts all over his hands, the light giving them an unnatural pale hue when combined with the fading light from the sunset.

Not so different from the color his skin was when he arrived.

_"Truly impressive!"_ the last man he had been displayed to had exclaimed, the words similar to those of all the people before him, the voice that of someone who has watched a sickeningly grotesque spectacle without even realizing it, too absorbed by their own certainty that what they are watching _isn't human_ , that they aren't aware, even if they don't care about others, that under different circumstances _they_ could be the show.

Marco stands up brusquely and violently kicks the chair across the room, shaking those thoughts from his head.

The resounding crash of the chair smashing against the wall snaps him out of it. Marco hurries over to it, but there is nothing to be done: the chair is broken beyond anything he could even begin to figure out how to repair and there is a noticeable dent in the wall. It has barely survived the impact.

Marco crouches down and picks up the lower half of one of the legs. The captain looked around the ship and brought this chair and the desk to the room when Marco became the navigator, because the previous chair was too large and the table too tall for this new chair.

Now Marco has broken it.

All because of those damn powers. If it wasn't for them, nothing would have happened. He wouldn't have been captured, he wouldn't have been made a slave, he wouldn't have become that bastard's _best item_...

Pain shoots through his hand. He blinks and focuses on his surroundings again. He has clenched his hand so tight that he has broken the wood, the splinters piercing his skin.

He lets go and, as always, the blue fire erases any trace of damage from his body. The only proof of the wound is the blood on the broken wood now scattered on the floor.

Marco looks at his hand. His slightly tanned hand with no trace of damage. This power made him a slave, but it, too, brought him here. It made him a slave, but it is also the reason he could escape, the only reason he survived the explosion of the collar.

Still looking at his hand, Marco stands up and goes to the door before he can think any more.

 

* * *

 

 

It has been a day since their conversation. The captain has tried to act normal, talking like always and not mentioning Marco's powers at all. He has been careful with his words, that is something Marco has noticed in his highly aware state.

Marco hasn't been able to do the same. He has tried, but he feels uncomfortable — _disappointing_ — and has left as soon as possible every time. He went to bed early last night, this morning he hasn't stayed reading in bed as he usually does and he left breakfast and lunch as soon as the plates were clean.

He didn't intend to appear again until it was time to cook dinner, but now he walks up to the captain.

"I was trying to learn to fly," he speaks, before he can talk himself out of it.

The captain, who was reading the morning paper, looks at him.

"What?" he asks. He is clearly confused at the random statement, and Marco would find it funny under different circumstances.

Now, however, he is too busy regretting his decision.

"That's how they caught me," he continues, "they saw me practicing."

Marco hadn't understood, at first, what was going on. It had been later, seeing the fascination when he was struck and he healed, the money —so much more money than he had ever seen before— changing hands, the _cheer_ at such a good _catch_ that he had realized something was horribly wrong. Figuring how they had found him had been easy. Realizing that he had made it so _easy_ to be caught, too. He had been jumping down a cliff for over a month, wings spread wide, trying to learn to control the ability to fly.

He had been in mid-air when the fishing net caught him.

The captain is looking at him, silent, and Marco fidgets. He wonders if he has messed up somehow. He just wanted to explain. He knows the captain feels bad about the conversation, and he shouldn't. It is not his fault that Marco is like this.

"Marco," the captain speaks finally. He doesn't sound annoyed, and for that Marco is relieved. "Can I ask you something?"

Marco nods, hesitant. The captain doesn't have to ask _Marco's_ permission to do anything. He can do whatever he wants.

"Did you like your powers? Before you were caught, I mean." The question is asked carefully, and Marco knows he is the one who has brought up the topic in the first place, but hearing it still feels like a punch to the gut.

He takes a step back.

"What if I did?" he retorts, and he wants to flinch immediately afterwards. He has just _talked back_ to his captain. _Parents_ don't like it when their own kids do that, Marco knows, so his captain is more than entitled to reprimand his subordinate for doing so.

The thought of being hit shouldn't bother Marco, and even less bother him so much, not when he knows he more than deserves it.

The captain moves off the chair. He kneels before Marco —they are nowhere near close to eye level, though— and raises a hand. Marco does flinch this time, but instead of hitting him the captain places his index finger on Marco's head, gently, and three more fingers rest across his back. The thumb is in the air before him, not touching him, not trapping him in any way, just... there. Suspended in the air where Marco can see it.

"Nothing," the captain answers, and there is a strange cadence to his voice. If it wasn't completely absurd for this situation, Marco would say he sounds pleased. "I just ask because, if you liked them, then hating them now and refusing to use them means you're letting those people take something else away from you."

Marco looks up at him, astonished. He doesn't even know how to _start_ to answer that, it's such an alien concept that it has never crossed his mind.

"...Take?" he repeats. The captain moves his index finger over Marco's head, careful. It feels nice. Marco leans into the touch.

"That's what they did, wasn't it? They tried to take everything away from you, to make you what they wanted."

Marco looks down and bites his lower lip to try to repress his suddenly heavier, panting breaths. There is pressure building in his chest as words start to swirl in his head.

'It', 'this thing', 'it', 'something', 'it'...

Marco sags, and it's only the captain's fingers holding him up now. He is a person, that is something he always refused to let them take from him, something he always clung to. He did, but somewhere along the way he forgot that the powers, his powers, are also _his_ , not theirs, not something there for others to enjoy, to _use_...

"I don't know if I can do this..." he whispers.

Then he is picked up —carefully, like the first day, movement mindful of him, of his comfort, not dragging him carelessly— and next thing he knows his captain is sitting on the floor, Marco on his leg and resting against his captain's side, a hand still wrapped around him. Loosely, in a way that would allow Marco to move away easily if he wanted to.

"Let's try something," his captain says. "Forget about flying or fighting with them for now. Learn to not hate them."

Marco closes his eyes, giving up on trying to control his breathing, and presses close to his captain, holding on to one of his fingers with both hands. There is something warm and wet prickling at his closed eyelids, and he can't untangle the heavy knot of emotions trying to burst from him all at once.

"I'll try," he breathes out, so low even he has trouble hearing his own voice.


	20. Parental Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I come with a light scene to soften the mood after the angst in the two previous chapters. Hope you like it.
> 
> Beta-read by Anjelle :)

Later that night they are working on dinner and the atmosphere has finally lightened. Newgate is relieved, because the previous tension had the potential to ruin all the progress they made so far. Things aren’t going to be easy, it will be a while before Marco feels comfortable with his powers —Newgate doesn’t think about the possibility that it may never happen, because Marco has repeatedly proven that he is incredibly strong and Newgate knows he will pull through this— but the important thing now is that Marco is willing to try.

Marco darts a quick glance at Newgate, the third one in so many minutes. There is obviously something on Marco’s mind, but he doesn’t appear anywhere close to how nervous he was earlier, so Newgate isn’t worried.

He is curious, though.

“What is it?” Newgate asks after the fourth glance, and Marco’s hands stop, Marco’s hold on the half-peeled potato loosening.

Marco looks up at him, and an expression Newgate has never seen him wear takes over Marco’s face. Guilt. Oh, Newgate has seen Marco with a guilty expression plenty of times, especially at the beginning, but today’s guilt is different. There is no fear or apprehension accompanying it. Marco feels like he has done something wrong, but he no longer expects or fears to be beaten within an inch of his life because of it. He looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It is a good change.

Newgate raises an eyebrow. Marco ducks his head.

“Earlier, before we talked, I… kicked the chair in the navigation room. And broke it.”

Newgate can’t help it, he bursts out laughing.

He knows it is stupid, that it isn’t that funny, but for once Marco’s concern is so _normal_ , something that anyone could have said, that Newgate can’t help it.

When he gets himself back under control, Marco is looking at him in confusion.

“Sorry,” Newgate says, and he snickers. “Break as much furniture as you want, that’s fine.”

It’s horrible parental advice, he knows, but they are pirates, and pirates aren’t exactly known for their good anger management skills. If Marco wants to kick chairs around when he needs to vent, that is perfectly fine. Newgate has lost count of how many pieces of furniture he has destroyed in a bad mood.

“We’ll get a new one. You can use a kitchen chair meanwhile.”


	21. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it’s been a while since I updated pretty much anything (I was working on a big bang story that finally didn’t make it to the event and will be posted at a later date), but today is May 20th, my birthday, and I’m updating some stories.
> 
> Here’s a scene about a topic I’ve been wanting to show for a while. After this, I want to get started in what you could call a mini-arc inside the story.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.
> 
> As always, beta-read by Anjelle (and believe me this time you’re veeeery fortunate about it) :D

Marco wakes up in a terrified, cold sweat. He is silent, his labored breaths the only indicator that something is off. At some point, he learned not to scream when he wakes up from a nightmare, and it is a habit he has no intention of breaking. He doesn’t want to disturb his captain’s sleep over something as silly as this.

The dreams, so frequent during the first few weeks, have slowly grown further apart as time passes. Marco’s usual reaction to them is to turn in bed so that he can see the dark, slumbering form of his captain, and he always pulls his warm, soft covers tighter around himself and burrows into his fluffy pillow and comfy mattress until the sense of _safety_ his bed gives him lulls him back to sleep. He only has one blanket and the sheets now, and even that is starting to feel too hot, but he isn’t ready to relinquish the blanket yet. He fears he will feel too exposed if he does. Marco hasn’t gotten around to sleeping in more than his underwear; the seams of the pajamas bother him too much to let him fall asleep after so many years without clothes, and his captain made it clear from the beginning that Marco isn’t obligated to wear anything he doesn’t want to. Ever.

That is not what he does today. Today’s dream hasn’t been about any of the _rooms_ in the manor itself, but instead it has been of the hole in the wall that was his prison. While the bed is nothing like his prison, Marco wakes up with an aching need for _outside_ , and so he throws on a pair of pants and a shirt he doesn’t bother to button up and pads barefoot to the deck.

It is late, though perhaps very early in the morning would be a better description. There is probably a few hours left for dawn still —Marco isn’t very good at telling the time based on the position of the stars yet, but he will learn— but that is fine. The stars and the moon are good.

Once he is out of the way of the door —Marco doesn’t want his captain to accidentally step on him— he drops onto his back so all that remains in sight is the darkened mast and folded sails backed by a vast sea of shining stars in a cloudless sky, the nearly full moon shining brightly amongst them.

Marco doesn’t move from there, nor does he try to fall asleep again. Instead, he spends the time identifying every constellation whose name he has recently learned anew.

There are _so many_ of them.

And then, for no reason, he raises his arm and lights his hand on fire.

He still has conflicting feelings regarding his devil fruit power, and he is nowhere close to comfortable at the thought of actively using it in battle, but blue fire means no kairoseki chains, and right now that reassurance has more weight for him than the voices in the back of his mind commenting on how _interesting_ that power is.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco blinks awake to a bright blue sky that signals it has to be at least three hours past dawn —he is much better at guessing the time based on the position of the sun than he is with the stars— and it takes him a moment to realize that what woke him isn’t the light, but the soft weight on his shoulder and the slight shake that accompanies it. He turns his head to see a large finger resting on his shoulder, and follows it up to the hand, the arm attached to it and finally to his captain’s face. His captain is crouched next to him.

Marco blinks blearily up at him.

“Sleep well?” his captain asks, and while the question sounds lighthearted, Marco suspects his captain knows exactly why Marco is sleeping on the middle of deck instead of in his bed.

He nods. He feels better, rested the way he hadn’t when he woke up earlier.

“Good,” his captain says, grinning. He removes his hand from Marco’s shoulder and extends it to him in an offer to help him up. “Breakfast is ready.”

Marco’s cheeks heat up at the realization that he has been sleeping out here while his captain did all the work, and decides that he will wash the dishes as compensation.

Pushing himself to sit up, Marco places a hand on his captain’s in acceptance of the offer, and then follows him into the kitchen.

He has slept under the stars and he is going to eat breakfast now. Despite the dream, today is a good day.


	22. The Price of Freedom, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, I’m here with the new update. I know it took a while, but I wanted to get a certain amount of story done before I posted it, which means I got two more chapters almost done and updates will come soon :D
> 
> A reminder to everyone that this is chapter one of a mini-arc inside the story, so it’s basically the introduction to said arc.
> 
> This chapter hasn’t been beta-read, so sorry if there’s anything confusing (if you see anything, even a small typo, point it out, please :D)

“Marco,” Newgate calls. Their next stop is on sight on the horizon, now, and Newgate can make out the peak of the tallest building in the coastline, looming on a low hill over every other building there.

“Yes?” Marco asks. He closes the compass, pockets it, and turns to look at him. There is a faint satisfied expression on his face, even if he isn’t smiling.

“Can you jump to the crow’s nest and remove the flag?”

Marco hesitates, bites his lower lip, and visibly squares his shoulders.

“Why do you do that every time? Is it because of me?”

Newgate smiles. It was only a matter of time before Marco noticed, and while his original intention was to stop doing it once Marco asked, today is a bit of an exception.

“Usually, I do, but today there’s another reason.”

Marco tilts his head, and he somehow manages to look absolutely skeptical without really altering his expression at all. Newgate points to the island.

“Do you see the tall building over there? That’s a marine base. I’d rather avoid trouble if at all possible.” Actually, Newgate would much rather avoid the island altogether, because he isn’t sure Marco is ready to face marines if things go sour, but he knows Marco won’t appreciate it if he says they are not stopping here. And he doesn’t know how much damage such a decision could do, which is why he doesn’t make it. They will have to lay low and avoid having anyone discover that they are pirates.

He mentally curses the map he bought, where there is no indication of this island housing a marine base. They will need a new one. Or a few of them, to compare the information.

Marco nods, and without further question he jumps on the rigging and nimbly climbs up to the crow’s nest.

Newgate mutters a few curses as he goes to collect his things. He had intended to let Marco go off on his own at least for a while today, but that will have to wait: they are going to stick together and make the visit quick.

He hopes the marines haven’t noticed them yet and seen their flag; their ship is small enough to be dismissed as unimportant by a lookout.

 

* * *

 

 

The port town is bustling with activity, the port itself so crowded they have to go all the way near to the edge of it to find a place to dock.

“Captain,” Marco says in a manner that might become amusement in the future but is barely past slightly bemused today, “I think you overreacted.”

Newgate chuckles, because he too has noticed that half the ships here are pirate ships. He throws the anchor over the side of the ship.

“Maybe. It’s best to be cautious. Check well that you don’t leave anything of value behind; you never know what’ll happen with so many pirates around.”

“Isn’t it odd, though?” Marco asks, looking up at the large galleon dwarfing their tiny ship. “So many pirates at an island with a marine base, and they don’t even bother to hide their presence?”

Newgate shrugs, because he doesn’t have an explanation for it.

“Maybe this base has a corrupt commanding officer that accepts bribes or something. I’ve never been to this island before, so I don’t really know.”

A corrupt commanding officer would come in handy right now, because it means nobody will give a fuck about their presence here. And Newgate isn’t above a little bribery to avoid putting Marco in an uncomfortable situation, even if he usually would settle for beating the shit out of a corrupt marine officer.

 

* * *

 

 

A few days ago, Marco was going over all the remaining non-valuables from _that place_ , more out of a morbid sense of curiosity than anything else, and he found a backpack. He has no intention of keeping it, but it has given him the idea that owning one will be useful —this is the first time he has the impulse to buy something for himself; his captain always tells him that wanting to buy things is good, so he takes this as a positive development— but for now it will be useful to carry his navigation tools, the map, and the one book he still hasn’t memorized. The money goes into his pocket, like in all their previous stops.

Marco grabs the shopping list on his way out back to deck. His captain is already down at the dock with his own bag, one he already owned before they met, and the ship is all secured to wait.

Marco jumps overboard and lands next to him, rolled-up list under an arm.

“Where to, first?” he asks, offering the list —which looks a little ridiculous on Marco’s hand because it is a third of his height— to his captain.

His captain takes it and scans the contents. Marco knows there isn’t much in it: provisions, wood for a handful of repairs to the walls in the training room, and the chair. There is something Marco has been thinking about, but he isn’t sure if he should bring it up; it sounds a little silly even in his head.

“The chair, I think. I can carry that around easily enough. Is there anything you want to buy?”

His captain is visibly surprised when Marco nods, but he also looks pleased. Marco points to the strap on his right shoulder.

“One of these. One that’s not from…” He doesn’t say it, but there is no need for the words. His captain’s frown is proof enough that he knows what Marco means. A smaller backpack than the one he is using, though, because there is still a lot of empty space in this one and Marco finds that annoying. “And… I was thinking earlier.” Marco decides there is no point in staying silent. His captain likes to ask for his opinion, and Marco doesn’t think he will laugh at him, even if he disagrees. “What would happen if the compass or something else broke?”

“A set of replacements?” his captain asks, and Marco nods. “That’s a good idea, though I don’t know how to tell quality apart from shit.”

“I’m not sure I do, either,” Marco admits, feeling embarrassed, because he _did_ , once upon a time.

His captain laughs, and he places a comforting hand on Marco’s shoulders, his fingers covering Marco’s whole back.

“We’ve got money, we can always buy the most expensive ones. Expensive stuff is supposed to be good, or so people like to say.”

 

* * *

 

 

Marco thought buying a chair would be an in and out of the shop business. It turns out he was wrong.

Because this is his chair, one where he will spend hours at a time more than once —he already does sometimes, mainly when he is practicing his poor drawing skills— his captain wants him to find the most comfortable chair possible.

Aside from standing up for himself, Marco is learning the fine art of discerning when it is worth it to pick a fight, as well as how to read his captain’s body language. His captain’s body language when he said that no, any chair wasn’t good enough, said he was ready to argue over this the same way he had the time they went shopping for clothes.

And so here they are, wandering around the shop while Marco sits on every chair of the appropriate height for him and makes an honest effort to gauge how comfortable or uncomfortable he finds it, even if he knows he can’t suffer from the inconveniences that are cramps or a sore back. He suspects his captain won’t accept that reasoning as a valid argument to pick a random chair.

Meanwhile, the shopkeeper is pretending to ignore them, and Marco is reasonably sure he is trying to hide his annoyance. He, like so many other people, seems to find his captain intimidating enough to avoid a confrontation over a minor annoyance like this.

At some point, Marco has started to find that kind of behavior amusing.

“What about armrests?” his captain asks, looking over the chair Marco is currently sitting in with a critical eye. It’s a little too low, and Marco thinks he will end up fidgeting constantly to find a good position for his legs.

“Unnecessary. I always rest my free arm on the desk, when I’m not using both hands.”

“Okay. Next one. I’m pretty sure you still have a few inches to grow at least.”

 

* * *

 

 

It is hard not to laugh at the barely contained annoyance of the shopkeeper when he finally rings up their purchase. It is even harder because Newgate noticed sometime halfway through their selection process that Marco looked at him, too, amusement shining in his eyes. It’s innocuous enough, and the fact that Marco can differentiate between this kind of situation and the ones where people derive pleasure from others’ suffering is so relieving that Newgate wants to laugh for an entirely different reason.

After this, Newgate intends to head for the navigation store he saw earlier down the street. He thinks it would be a good idea to buy Marco some material about sailing in the Grand Line. Newgate doesn’t intend to head there until they have a larger crew —at least a couple non-devil fruit users who can fish them out of the water if necessary, because they are both hammers— but he remembers his brief trip there, as well as the many horror stories he has heard on the subject of navigating the place. Newgate is no navigator, but he is certain that the crazy sea he experienced will be hard to handle, and he wants Marco to be as prepared as possible for it by the time they decide to set sail for the Grand Line. His former crew’s navigator was certainly overwhelmed when they entered that sea.

A loud bang snaps him out of his brief distraction.

A _gunshot_.

He looks down at Marco. He is fine —of course he is, the shot came from outside and reasonably far enough that Newgate doesn’t think it was on this street— but his back has gone ramrod straight and his fists are clenched so tight his knuckles have turned white. He has spun around to face the door, and Newgate really doesn’t need to think why Marco would react so strongly to that sound.

He places a hand on Marco’s back, and smiles at him reassuringly when Marco looks up at him. Whatever is going on, Newgate can beat the crap out of anybody, and he damn sure isn’t letting anyone even look funny at his son.

There is no further noise. In fact, the constant murmur of voices and people moving outside has died down. There are no more shots. Or yelling, laughter, and any of the other assorted noises that surround pirates as they attack civilians.

And, speaking of civilians… Newgate turns around to look at the shopkeeper, and his movement prompts the still too tense Marco to do the same.

The shopkeeper looks as tense as Marco, his eyes wide, and he is clearly terrified, but he has frozen in place. That is not the common reaction to a gunshot. He isn’t hysterical nor has he ducked for cover, and his fear is not the one of a startled civilian. Newgate saw similar reactions a while ago, even if those weren’t to a gunshot.

A second shot cuts through the silence, and the shopkeeper winces, a pained grimace on his face.

Marco presses closer to Newgate’s hand, the movement barely noticeable, and Newgate starts to rub slow circles on his back in an attempt to reassure him.

“Any idea what’s going on out there?” Newgate asks, keeping his voice soft and as unthreatening as he can manage.

The shopkeeper shakes his head, too quickly and too vigorously.

“M-Must be pirates,” he says, unconvincing. Well, his fear is convincing, but his reaction _isn’t_ the one of a civilian scared of a pirate attack.

“Maybe we should have a look, then,” Newgate muses out loud, looking down at Marco. He doesn’t mean it, not really —getting into a fight with another crew at this stage, and so close to the marines, isn’t something he wants— but then the shopkeeper practically jumps over the counter.

“Don’t!” he exclaims, reaching out for the closest limb, which happens to be Marco’s arm. Newgate pulls Marco back; he doesn’t want for Marco to feel uncomfortable, and he doesn’t know how he would react to that. Probably not in a good way, even less given his current tension.

“Why not?” asks Newgate, his voice not as unthreatening as earlier.

The shopkeeper moves back to stand behind the counter, though whether he understands that he can’t touch Marco or is simply scared by Newgate’s reaction is difficult to say. He doesn’t look any more scared than he did before Newgate spoke, though.

“If it’s… pirates, they’re dangerous.”

Newgate bursts out laughing, he doesn’t even bother to avoid it.

“Do _I_ look like someone a bunch of third rate pirates can hurt?”

The shopkeeper stutters something incomprehensible, as if he wants to protest, but he shakes his head.

Marco tugs on Newgate’s index finger, and Newgate looks down at him again.

“You should go see what’s going on,” Marco tells him. He is visibly calmer, over whatever thoughts the gunshots stirred. The fact that he is suggesting anything is a great indicator of it.

“What about you?”

“I’ll… wait here.” The shopkeeper can’t see it from the angle he is at behind the counter, but Newgate catches easily how Marco glances at the shopkeeper as he says ‘wait’, and is surprised to realize he understands what Marco means: while Newgate’s more threatening form is out of the picture, Marco will try to learn what he can from the shopkeeper.

Newgate isn’t sure if he is more proud of Marco for _wanting_ to try something like that and being willing to interact with a stranger on his own, or worried about him being alone in an unknown situation. He reminds himself that Marco isn’t defenseless now, but it’s hard to forget how they met.

“And what if someone attacks here?”

Marco’s lips twitch.

“Do I look like someone a bunch of third rate pirates can hurt?” And it is tiny, but that is definitely a smirk on his face.

Newgate laughs again, startling the shopkeeper —who, by the way, looks like he thinks the answer to that question is a sound ‘yes’— and gaining a small smile from Marco.

The cheeky brat.

Newgate ruffles his hair.

“Don’t leave this place unless someone attacks in here.”

Marco nods, and Newgate goes to the door. Because there is still silence outside, and that is _not_ how a town reacts to a pirate attack. He needs to know if something else is going on here, to check if they won’t be better off just leaving and heading to another island for their supplies. They still have provisions for a couple days, as well as perfectly serviceable fishing rods, after all.

If he glances back at Marco a couple times, no one can blame him.

Two more gunshots sound from the same direction as he closes the door behind himself.


	23. The Price of Freedom, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s the first of the two aforementioned completed chapters :D We get into things.
> 
> Again, not beta-read xD

Marco takes a deep breath to steady himself once his captain is out of the store and the door is firmly closed behind him. He can do this, he _needs_ to do this. He is a pirate now, and he will be dealing with guns on a fairly regular basis soon enough, he will be attacked with them often —because in Marco’s mind there is no doubt that Edward Newgate has the potential to become a great pirate, and great pirates are attacked— so Marco needs to just _get over it_ , remember that guns are useless against him now, and do what he can in this situation. Because he is pretty damn sure this isn’t some random pirate attack: the shopkeeper is reacting in any way _but_ like a terrified civilian caught off guard by a sudden attack (and yes, Marco still remembers how those reactions were, even if it was so long ago). If Marco is an expert in anything, that is fear. He has seen his fair share of slaves over the years, new and old, and he has also seen terrified but aware civilians (and he _isn’t_ thinking about it; that won’t help). This shopkeeper was more afraid when his captain suggested to check what is happening than he has been by any of the four gunshots.

He knows that look.

Taking another deep breath and anchoring his mind firmly to the present, Marco turns around, puts on his best impression of a calm and nonchalant expression, and fixes the shopkeeper with what he hopes is a piercing look. He doesn’t have any practice with that last part.

“So,” he starts, doing his best to imitate that tone of his captain’s that sounds absolutely calm and unthreatening but makes it perfectly clear he means business, “what is _really_ going on here? And don’t say ‘pirates’,” he cuts the predictable response. “I _know_ that look, and I know a pirate crew can’t be responsible for it with a marine base right on the hill.”

No, Marco already knows what is going on. He doesn’t think his captain has put all the pieces together yet, but Marco has a pretty good picture forming in his mind. He just needs confirmation.

The shopkeeper smiles. Marco isn’t sure what expression he is attempting to achieve, but he looks like someone grabbed the ends of his mouth and pulled them up. It is painful to see.

“You kids these days come up with such things,” he says, and Marco has to give it to him: his face may be completely unconvincing, but now that he has passed the initial moment of panic, he has regained an admirable amount of control of his voice. He sounds almost amused.

Marco isn’t.

“Really? So, it’s not some rich guy down there attacking people while the marines pretend not to notice?” No, that isn’t it, Marco realizes when he sees the shopkeeper’s shoulders sag in relief. “Or,” he ventures, and it is sickening, even more so to think it hasn’t taken him a single second’s hesitation to accept the idea as a valid possibility, “is it the marines who fired?”

And there, in the way the shopkeeper tenses all over again and his eyes zero in on Marco’s face, is his answer. People are supposed to be able to trust the marines, Marco knows this, but he learned the hard way that marines don’t really protect everyone. Learning that some of them actively hurt those they are supposed to protect isn’t even a surprise.

“It doesn’t matter,” the shopkeeper says after a long beat of silence. He isn’t trying to sound cheerful anymore. “Leave it, kid, you shouldn’t have to worry about these things. With any luck, they’ll be long gone by the time your friend gets there.”

It takes Marco a surprising amount of effort to hold onto the impulse to say that he is not a kid. He has spent many weeks now training himself out of the habit of remaining silent no matter what, to speak his mind instead, and while it is still difficult on many occasions, he at least doesn’t hold back anymore when he knows the response won’t bother his captain. And his captain would laugh at such a reply. But this isn’t his captain, and while Marco doesn’t think this man would grow angry at him (and he isn’t afraid of him, not really; he knows he can take him on even if that small corner of his brain is leery of the unknown individual), he doesn’t want to risk antagonizing him.

Instead, Marco focuses on the last part of the sentence.

“You don’t have to worry about him, he’s really strong.”

“I’m not worried about him,” the shopkeeper says, and he is frowning now. “I don’t know him, and I don’t care about strangers. And that’s the problem: he’s a stranger. _An outsider_. He has no idea how things work around here! What if he decides to attack the marines, eh?! You say he’s strong, so he might survive that, but then you’ll either be killed anyway or leave this place, and whatever happens _we_ will be punished for what _he_ does! Ugh! That’s why you outsiders should just keep—!” he cuts himself off halfway through the sentence, when he finally looks at Marco after a couple sentences of gesticulating wildly and looking around. All the anger and frustration drain out of his face, and instead an odd expression takes over it. He looks as if he has been punched. “Well.”

It takes Marco a moment to realize what the sudden change is due to. At some point during the shopkeeper’s tirade, Marco has taken a step back, tensed up, and is poised to fight or flee at the minimal change. And whatever expression has replaced Marco’s previously portrayed calm has given _something_ away as well. Marco forces himself to relax and schools his features back into calm.

“Maybe not so much of a kid,” the shopkeeper says after it becomes obvious that Marco won’t break the silence, not on this topic. He is talking mostly to himself anyway. “I won’t presume to ask what that was about,” the shopkeeper says, now addressing Marco directly, “but I hope it means your friend knows better than to attack the marines.”

“It doesn’t,” Marco tells him, because it is the truth. After all, Marco wouldn’t be here today if his captain was the sort of person who stays out of others’ dirty businesses. “But it also means he will take down the entire base, not just whoever’s out here now.”

The shopkeeper scoffs bitterly derisively.

“Oh, sure he will. Don’t give me that bullshit, nobody gives a fuck about us, and whoever tries gets themselves killed. You would’ve seen the two bodies hanging in the plaza if you’d come by last week.”

Marco isn’t sure what takes over him right then. Maybe it’s the bitterness, or the fact that the lack of any actual feelings —sadness, horror, fear— behind that sentence could have been his own reaction to practically anything not so long ago. Maybe it’s the hopelessness, or just Marco’s own frustration with the world in general.

Whatever the reason, Marco stalks up to the counter, meets the shopkeeper’s eyes dead on and, when he is sure he has his full attention, moves down to punch straight on the counter, through the glass top case and all the way down the wood frame until the entire thing is shattered; splintered wood and broken glass crumble down and assorted trinkets litter the ground, the maybe-broken register has toppled to one side, and Marco is down on one knee. His fist has caused a dent on the stone floor, but he has stopped before the stone could actually crack. He could have used his powers to heal himself, but he refuses to use them in front of another person, so instead he has done _the Thing_ ; the one that allows him to pull this kind of stunt without taking any damage. Besides, he thinks it is more impressive to be unharmed than to heal the harm afterwards. And the protection is so thorough that not even his shirt’s sleeve is damaged.

Marco looks up.

The shopkeeper has stumbled backwards, appearing as if he barely managed to remain on his feet, and _now_ is when he looks like someone unexpectedly caught under attack for the first time. It is kind of gratifying to see he still has the capacity to react like that, but that isn’t what Marco is aiming for.

Marco stands up and very slowly and deliberately starts to wipe his sleeve from any fragments of glass and splinters.

“We’re not some third rate pirates,” he says, and wonders if the shopkeeper will understand he not only means that they aren’t weaklings, but also that they _are_ pirates. Again, not the point. He looks down at the mess he has made. “I’m sorry about that. I have money, I think it might be enough to pay for the repairs.” Marco pulls out the still untouched pouch his captain handed him what seems like so long ago, and idly wonders if his captain would consider this a personal expense.

The shopkeeper waves his hands, shaking his head. Marco puts the pouch away. He doesn’t feel right about not paying for that, but spending money when he is told it isn’t necessary feels even worse.

“Is he that strong, too?”

“Stronger. He always kicks my ass.”

The shopkeeper nods, still looking shocked, and gestures in the direction of the couches on sale.

“At this point,” he says, walking to one of the couches himself, “I think we’d welcome even the most infamous of pirates’ help. We hoped the government would intervene, but…” He shakes his head. “We were idiots.” He sits down heavily, and Marco takes a seat on a couch across from him.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” Marco asks.

The shopkeeper nods.

“I will, but...” He looks in the direction of the destroyed counter. “I’m not sure you’ll still want to help when I’m done.”

“We will, that I can promise you.” And he truly can, which feels odd. Somehow, somewhere along the line, Marco has grown to know his captain well enough that he has no doubt his captain will destroy that marine base even if this entire island were to beg him not to do it.

The shopkeeper shakes his head again, looking somewhere between doubtful and a little, reluctantly, hopeful.

“Have you ever heard about devil fruits?”


	24. The Price of Freedom, Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 of the arc is here, and I’m almost done with the next one, so you can expect that update relatively soon (I say relatively because I want to work on some stuff from chapter 5 before posting).
> 
> I’m glad to know people are excited to see how this unfolds :D

“Two years ago, a marine base was built on this island. You have to understand, we have always been an important commercial port. Many ships stop here, a lot of them pirates, and pirates have a tendency to cause trouble. When the construction of the base was first announced, there were mixed reactions. Many people were happy that the violence caused by the pirates would end, but we also feared our economy would suffer, because pirates have always been one of our main sources of income.”

 

* * *

 

 

Newgate’s suspicion that something is off here has only grown as he advances through the town’s streets. While he has seen some people have ducked for cover, they appear to only be visitors, such as bar patrons or store customers. He hasn’t seen a single waiter, waitress, or store worker attempting to hide, and some of them haven’t even stopped working, as if they know there is no need to do so. Or as if they _need_ to have something to focus on. Many faces are guarded, but others not so much, and those are very revealing.

Strangest of all, though, is a group of men he spots sitting around a large table at a bar. Newgate is willing to bet they are pirates (they certainly have the looks for it), but they are just sitting there, exchanging a few whispers but doing nothing. Now, there are three possible behaviors pirates usually have during an attack on a town: they may be the perpetrators, be caught in it and be curious or amused by it, or decide to leave the island if they see the attackers as too much of a threat to them. Even in situations where a pirate does none of these three things (such as Newgate is doing right now), he has never before encountered a case where a pirate crew wasn’t the cause for trouble and didn’t at least try to discover what the cause was.

Maybe they _do_ know, which only adds to the feeling of wrongness growing in Newgate’s chest.

 

* * *

 

 

“When Captain Colt and his men arrived, they surprised us by actually listening to our concerns, and the Captain offered us a compromise: any pirates who caused trouble would be dealt with, but those who passed by peacefully would be allowed to conduct their business and leave. We were grateful, immensely so, and we often would offer the marines free drinks, meals, and other things in thanks for how much our lives had improved since their arrival.”

 

* * *

 

 

Newgate finally reaches the street where the gunshots came from. He knows it’s the one because there is a dead man on the pavement. Some twenty marines are rounding up five men who, unlike the guys at the bar, do _not_ look like pirates. They have no weapons on them, and two out of the five look like they couldn’t even carry a handful of bricks by themselves.

The dead man doesn’t look like a pirate, either. While that doesn’t necessarily mean he _wasn’t_ one (Newgate has met a few pirates who favor suits and dress shoes, after all), there is no weapon on sight that would explain why the marines shot him.

Because Newgate is pretty damn sure it was the marines.

There are civilians around, and while none of them is still working like on the other streets, they all have a subdued air to them that Newgate has seen before.

Around two months ago, to be more precise.

“What’s going on?” he asks a nearby woman in a low voice.

The woman looks up at him, showing no reaction at all at being addressed by him (which is uncommon, because most people are at least cowed by his presence). There is an odd look in her eyes; Newgate wouldn’t call them dead, not really, but they certainly aren’t lively either.

“Just an arrest,” she says in a perfectly nonchalant monotone.

That is when Newgate spots a bloodstain farther on the ground, only that there is no body over it. A quick scan of the crowd shows there is no one sporting an injury that would have shed that much blood.

“An arrest for what reason?”

Before she can respond —and she doesn’t look like she wants to— Newgate notices the marines have lined the five men up against a wall, their backs to the street, and are moving a few feet away, rifles in hand.

 

* * *

 

 

“But then, around four months after things had settled, everything changed. One day Captain Colt stood in the middle of the market, surrounded by many of his men, and he announced that we owed them. He said they had bent a lot of rules to accommodate to our whims and we had to compensate them for it. When two soldiers grabbed a young girl, we protested.”

 

* * *

 

 

It seems to be turning into a custom.

Newgate has just approached the marines to ask why, exactly, they want to execute those men. If there is a valid reason (such as them having a death warrant on their heads or something like that) then he will leave them alone, because while he doesn’t approve of executions it isn’t just him here this time around.

So, of course, the marine replies with the very stupid reason that they butted into something that was none of their business, and Newgate has punched him across the street before all the words are out of his mouth.

And of course the other marines attack him, and the citizens panic and start yelling for him to stop.

At least this time around the people he saves from execution look genuinely grateful about it.

 

* * *

 

 

“I have asked you if you know about devil fruits because it was then that we discovered the captain had eaten one. Suddenly, we were surrounded by men —pirates— who attacked us. They literally appeared out of nowhere and disappeared mere seconds later, but in that time two men died, and they stayed dead once the pirates were gone.”

 

* * *

 

 

Unsurprisingly, Newgate receives no answers from the civilians about what just happened here before his arrival, and they in fact move away from him. The men he has saved have hightailed it out of here, taking the corpse with them, by the time Newgate gives up on the citizens and thinks of asking them.

Newgate shrugs and decides to head back to the store. He owes Marco one hell of an apology now, because he doubts they can get away before the marines learn of this mess (and, honestly, he doesn’t want to get away), and the chances of _not_ being given a bounty after destroying a marine base are pretty slim.

He wants a bounty, of course, he has wanted one for years, but he hoped he could postpone it for Marco’s sake. Marco has improved a lot, but Newgate isn’t sure he is ready to start fighting marines on a regular basis.

Maybe he can find a safe place for Marco to wait today, at least.

 

* * *

 

 

“Captain Colt announced that he controlled fear.”

“Fear?” Marco asks, interrupting the tale the shopkeeper has been delivering in that monotonous way that suggests he has relived this story in his mind too many times.

“I don’t know how it’s even possible,” the shopkeeper says with a shake of his head, “but he said he could make our worst fears come true, and he has. Multiple times. Do you remember I mentioned two bodies before?” Marco nods. “Well, one of them…” here the shopkeeper hesitates, giving Marco a queasy look. Then he shakes his head again. “One of them was skinned alive, without anybody doing it. The skin just…” He shudders and makes a vague gesture with his hand.

Marco nods gravely, a hand rubbing his left thigh through the fabric of his pants.

“So you accepted.”

“We had no choice,” the shopkeeper whispers. “As long as we go along with their demands, they leave most of us alone and the commerce continues.” By the way he says it, Marco suspects he would much rather be poor and hungry.

Marco doesn’t want to ask, but he has to know.

“What demands?”

The shopkeeper closes his eyes, and the monotone is back when he replies.

“Everything for free, of course. And they… sometimes… they take people. Girls, mostly, but some boys, too. Most come back, though they...”

And about that Marco doesn’t need to hear any further elaboration. That is probably the only thing he never was, but he has seen plenty of sex slaves over the years: they are generally kept healthier than the other slaves, because they must be appealing, and they are kept as long as they are interesting, provided they don’t misbehave too much. If they do, it seems they don’t come back, here. Where Marco has been, none of them went back: once _he_ was bored of one, he either put the slave with the others or sold them.

Marco concentrates, because he really needs to _stop thinking about it_ , and senses the now very familiar voice that is his captain coming closer.

“Well,” he says, for both his sake and the shopkeeper’s, who looks like he is barely managing to hold himself together now, “you were wrong. I suggest you spread the word to stay away from the base once we leave here.” Marco hesitates, just a moment, before deciding the possibility of panic is a real one, and adds: “And tell them not to worry about the tremors. Just go somewhere safe.”

“Tremors?”

“Tremors,” his captain confirms from the doorway. “The ones I’ll cause when I take that place down.” Judging by the way the hand that isn’t holding the handle is trembling, it has taken everything he has not to break the door. Marco has never seen him this angry. He wonders if his captain was so angry that first day. By the time they met, he had already vented most of his emotions on the manor’s inhabitants.

“What happened out there?”

“I’m not sure, but I walked into some marines trying to execute a few guys just because they bothered them.” His captain walks in, and closes the door behind him. Marco thinks he uses extra care in doing so. “Nobody would talk.”

“I’m not surprised,” Marco says.

His captain crosses his arms and looks Marco up and down.

“I was going to suggest you waited here or somewhere else, but you look like you won’t stand for that.”

Marco has moved forward on his seat, almost standing up before he stills. He hesitates. He isn’t sure about that last part. If his captain tells him to stay, he will stay, but…

“I’d much rather go with you,” he says.

His captain frowns before nodding, and Marco doesn’t think he imagines the way he hesitates. He doesn’t ask if Marco can handle it, though, for which Marco is grateful. To be perfectly honest, Marco isn’t sure of what response to that question would be the truth, but he is certain he will regret it if he stays behind.

Marco stands up.

“Wait.” They both turn to the shopkeeper, who has moved to his feet, too. “I don’t know what you mean to do, but there’s… people, in that building.”

His captain looks at Marco, and he thinks he is telling him he should be the one to reply. Which makes sense, because while his captain may suspect something, Marco is the one who knows the facts.

“Do you know where they are?”

“The topmost floor,” the shopkeeper replies immediately, then his eyes drift somewhere above Marco’s head. “That’s what my son said. Two rooms on the topmost floor; one for boys, the other for girls.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I made this devil fruit up. I know there’s none similar in canon, but if there’s something in a filler anime episode, sorry, I don’t follow the anime. Same for most movies, I’ve only seen Strong World and Film Z (Film Gold is in my list, though).


	25. The Price of Freedom, Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes part 4 :)

Slavery, of course it has to be slavery. No matter how the people here speak, or don’t speak, about what is going on at this island, that is what this is. Newgate understands why Marco wants to accompany him once Marco is done sharing everything the shopkeeper has told him, and Newgate can’t blame him for it. He can’t even imagine how Marco must have felt in the beginning, before it finally sank in that nobody would come to save him (Newgate doesn’t _want_ to imagine it, and he feels like the worst kind of monster because of it). There are people in that situation right now, _here_ , and Marco doesn’t want to be amongst the people who sit back and do nothing.

The problem is that Newgate doesn’t want Marco anywhere near this Captain Colt.

“Okay, this is the plan,” Newgate starts. They are still at the bottom of the small hill that houses the marine base, because there is no way he can hide properly up there to talk. “We figure out where this asshole captain is, then I go after him while you go up there to get the prisoners.”

“We’re splitting up?” Marco asks, looking a little startled.

Newgate knows he has to play his cards right or he risks having Marco’s trust in him damaged (or, worse yet, Marco’s fragile trust in himself).

“I think ir’s the safest bet. We don’t want them to be unnecessarily scared once the building starts shaking, and we don’t know exactly how strong this captain is, so I can’t guarantee the building will survive the fight. Better to get them out as quickly as possible.”

Marco nods, accepting his reasoning. It isn’t a lie, exactly, just not the entire truth.

“I guess me being less intimidating helps, too.”

Newgate laughs despite the situation, glad that Marco has decided to voice that observation. He hopes the people up there are still in a state to notice it.

 

* * *

 

 

Ensign Martins is _bored_. In his honest opinion, keeping watch is a waste of time and effort. By now, pirates know how to behave in town if they want the marines to leave them alone, and the citizens are too terrified to try anything stupid.

He has better things to do than keeping watch, like getting ready for the new girl. They will start on her as soon as the other members of the hunting party return: they have had to stay behind to take care of some foreign idiots who tried to help the girl. Besides, they have to patch the girl up a little first or she will bleed all over them (not that she _won’t_ bleed anyway, but it isn’t the same).

Martins is so distracted that he doesn’t notice the kid walking up to him until he is almost in front of him. Pretty average height, in relatively good shape, maybe fifteen, and no doubt not from around here (because Martins _would_ remember that hair, not to mention he looks like the sort of kid the guys who are into boys would bring).

_Is today Stupid Foreigner Day or something?_ Martins thinks in annoyance as he stands up.

“Get out of here, brat,” he orders.

“I can’t do that,” the kid says calmly, “I have a question.”

Well, Martins _has_ tried to be nice.

“See if I care,” he says, reaching for his sword.

And then he is on his back, which now hurts like hell after the crash, and his chest is burning where the kid has just kicked him ( _and he wasn’t close enough to kick him_ ). The kid stands above him, just as calmly as when he spoke, and before Martins can push himself into a sitting position, the kid steps on his still sheathed sword. The sword _breaks_.

“That was rude.”

Before Martins can do anything else —he isn’t sure if it would have been reaching for his gun or shit himself— there is a booming laugh, and a _giant_ man shows up walking the steep path to the base. Option two seems much more likely.

“That was a good move, son,” the man says, still chuckling.

“Thank you, Captain,” the kid replies with a tiny smile. He doesn’t even look particularly smug about it, as if taking on a trained marine is no big deal. Martins feels insulted.

And _captain_? Are these guys pirates? Well, the captain has the looks for it, but the kid doesn’t. Then again, he knows how to fight —and damn it, he doesn’t look particularly strong— so it could be. Pirates are supposed to stay the fuck away from the base.

“So, as Marco here was saying, we want to ask you something.”

And now the blade of a fucking giant bisento is at Martins’ throat.

They should have put an entire _squad_ on watch duty.

 

* * *

 

 

As confirmed by ten now dead marines, Captain Colt is at the mess hall in the main floor, overlooking the preparations for the _initiation_ of the girl who was kidnapped right before Newgate showed up at that damned street. The girl herself is at the upper floor with the other prisoners, who are tending to her wound because god forbid the marines have to do it themselves.

And, yes, the original plan wasn’t to kill the marines they interrogated, but they all sounded so gleeful about the girl that it was unavoidable.

They have cleared quietly the halls as they advance through the main floor, shoving unconscious marines into supply closets or random rooms. They part once they reach the stairs, Marco heading up while Newgate continues to follow the directions he has been given (and he has asked them from more than one person, just to be sure).

The mess hall is easy to identify as he approaches it. There are two large closed doors at the end of the hallway, and Newgate can hear what must be dozens of people chatting animatedly and moving around inside, clearly excited and happy. Excited and happy about the upcoming gang rape of an innocent girl.

Newgate sends caution to the wind and punches the air in the direction of the doors, which are sent flying into the mess hall. The shockwave makes the entire building tremble, though Newgate is familiar enough with his power by now that he has managed to create a tremor that won’t threaten the stability of the building.

The surprised and pained screams coming from the mess hall are highly satisfying.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco keeps part of his focus on his captain’s reassuring voice as he creeps his way up the stairs. He is almost sure that his captain gave him this job to get him away from the marine captain, nut he also realizes the importance of getting these people to safety as quickly as possible. And, oddly enough, Marco doesn’t feel offended or dismissed by his captain’s choice. Knowing that his captain is keeping Marco’s wellbeing into consideration even when they are going to battle is… nice. It gives Marco a feeling of warmth and safety.

Then the building trembles.

Marco shakes his head, somehow unsurprised that his captain attacked before Marco could climb all the way up the stairs.

He senses a large crowd of voices approaching hurriedly and backtracks to slip into a hallway a floor below and into a room he senses is empty. It turns out to be a supply closet.

The marines pass, noisy and asking what is going on, and Marco goes back to the stairs.

His captain sounds angry.

 

* * *

 

 

“What the—what the hell?!” a man —Captain Colt, judging by his uniform— exclaims from a sitting position on the ground. He is the one who has recovered faster; all the other marines are still sprawled on the floor, some of them groaning, some silent.

“I should be the one asking that. What the fuck sort of scumbags are you?”

“Scumbags?!” a grunt yells, dragging himself to his feet. “We’re _marines_ , so watch your mouth!” He grins sadistically. “You should know better than to pick a fight with Captain Colt.”

 

* * *

 

 

Marco is rushing through a hallway on the second to last floor (the staircase didn’t reach all the way up, and now he has to find the other stairs). There are two doors at the beginning of the hallway, but those lead to twin empty massive bunk rooms that seem to take up most of this floor.

Only a third door is left on the opposite end of the hallway, and that is where the stairs must be. There is someone not far behind that door, too, which means Marco will have to fight after all.

He skids to a halt some ten feet before the door when the handle turns, and falls into a fighting stance. The marine officer that steps through the door stops when he sees Marco.

“An intruder?”

—

Newgate grins viciously. These assholes will regret it if this bastard actually tries to use his power on him.

Colt looks around instead of standing or attacking, his eyes widening as he scans his fallen men.

“Where’s Lieutenant Dreamer?!” he demands.

Just then, Newgate hears the stomping of many feet running their way. He spins his bisento around, slashes through the air, and sends a cutting shockwave through the hallway. He can’t hear whatever response Colt receives above the screams, but he hears Colt’s reaction to it.

“Get him here! NOW!”

Newgate turns to look at the still sitting Colt and the undiluted terror in his eyes as he stares at Newgate, and suddenly Newgate understands.

His blood freezes in his veins.

“You’re not the devil fruit user.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is now a good moment to say part 5 isn’t done yet?


	26. The Price of Freedom, Part V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is Marco’s birthday, and I bring you part 5 to celebrate :) Hope you like it (there’s one more left and we’re done with the arc :D)
> 
> Anjelle is back to beta-reading for this story, so this chapter IS beta-read :D She’s also gone over the previous chapters, which I’ll replace when I come back home from class (I’m posting Marco’s birthday fics and then I’m off)

“I have something very interesting to show you, my friend.”

_Nononononono_ , Marco thinks desperately, pulled down to the floor by the too-short chains that barely leave him enough room to writhe in their hold on the floor. _This isn’t happening._

_He_ is droning on, but Marco is too busy panicking to pay any attention. Marco hasn’t dreamed it, he can’t _have_ dreamed it, but he was running and dressed and now he’s down on the floor, naked, and with the chains biting on his skin with nearly enough strength to summon the fire.

The room trembles. Expensive and antique decorations shake in place, some figurines slide down their shelves, and an ugly vase expensive enough to feed the entire village falls to the floor and shatters.

The disturbance is enough to distract _him_ and whatever guests _he_ has, and it brings Marco’s focus sharply to something he has overlooked in his panic.

Panic. _Fear._

A bitter smile pulls Marco’s lips up. He _never_ smiles, does he? He may have hallucinated the whole thing, or he may not, but there is one thing for sure: he has nothing to win by staying like this. And if it _was_ some sort of feverish dream… well, it’s not like Marco has anything left to lose.

Marco closes his eyes and divides his focus. Way down, he can hear plenty of panicked voices. _And his captain_ , who is more enraged than Marco has ever sensed him be and yet, somehow, panicked. And if that isn’t confirmation enough, then there is _here_. Marco has seen the usual number of guards around the room, plus _him_ and the two guests, yet he can only hear one voice here.

The chains are still around him, though, and _he_ has gotten himself back under control and is talking again.

They have never used kairoseki on him for these exhibitions.

With his eyes still closed, Marco summons as much of the strengthening power as he can muster and lurches to his feet. The chains —made of mere steel— snap all over him, and fire sprouts out to fix the damage. Marco rushes to the voice too fast to give the person any time to react, and kicks out, slamming the person against a wall. All noise, save for a faint gurgling, vanishes.

Marco opens his eyes.

He is back at the marine base’s hallway, and the man he saw earlier is held between the wall and… his talon? Marco hasn’t had this particular involuntary transformation in years, but for once he can’t say he cares. He has stabbed the man in three points over his chest and one down through his stomach, and the gurgling noise is him trying to either breathe or speak past the blood filling his mouth.

“How did I do it?” Marco guesses the marine would ask if he could, and there is a faint nod, wide and pain-filled eyes staring at him. “That power of yours covers all five senses, doesn’t it?” It’s another guess, but this time the marine doesn’t seem to have the strength to nod. Marco can see fear in his eyes, whether it is fear of Marco or the realization of what he is going to do, Marco doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. Marco wonders how often this marine has seen that same fear in other people’s eyes. “Yeah, well, I have a sixth sense.”

And that is it. This asshole has just tried to send him back to _that place_ , and if it wasn’t for Marco’s odd sixth sense it might have worked.

Marco lifts the marine up, still held by his talons, and after making eye contact long enough to make sure the guy _knows_ what is about to happen, Marco slams him on the floor with enough strength to break his neck.

He lets go of the body and transforms his foot back to normal. Marco has never been so relieved to be wearing sandals.

Marco looks around, then down at himself. There is no trace of what has happened anywhere; no broken chains, no rips on his clothes. His hands are shaking, though, and he is barely holding back from trembling all over. All he wants to do is go find his captain, head over to the deck of their ship, and ask about some silly adventure while they have a snack under the open sky.

But he can’t, not yet. Marco takes a deep breath and turns to the still open door and the narrow staircase it leads to.

Without glancing back at the corpse, he starts running.

There are no guards anywhere, they probably don’t need them so high inside this base, and he focuses on the voices above. Maybe two dozens of them, divided into a larger and a smaller group that are placed relatively nearby. The larger group must be the girls, and the smaller one the boys.

The stairs lead him to a small circular landing that opens into two hallways, and Marco walks first down the one leading to the larger group of voices. He reminds himself that a girl was just shot and dragged here earlier today, and that in and of itself is bad, but might also prove helpful because it means there is at least one person here who hasn’t yet been through the actual experience of being a slave, and thus someone who might be of assistance. If she was shot it must have been because she resisted. That is _good._

He can hear some actual, sound-based voices as he approaches the only door in the hallway. They fall silent when Marco cautiously knocks on the door. He thinks it is better if he warns them of his presence before barging in.

“Is anyone there?” he asks, though he isn’t really sure if he expects an answer or not. To be perfectly honest, Marco doesn’t know how he would have reacted to a rescue of any sort in his cell. He certainly didn’t react very positively to his captain.

“Listen, my name is Marco. I’m— I’m not a marine.” He isn’t sure how they will react to the knowledge that he is a pirate, so he omits that detail. “I’m here to get you out.”

There is no actual reply, but he hears some shuffling from inside. He continues. He needs them to trust him if he wants to get them out of here, because the only other way they will follow him is out of fear and Marco refuses to let that happen.

“You noticed the tremors earlier, right?” _Of course they have_ , Marco thinks, _that’s probably what got the asshole to come down_. “That wasn’t the marines, it was my—“ Marco cuts himself off right before he can say ‘captain’; these people think the marine captain is the one with the devil fruit power, and using that word could play against him. “It’s my father down there,” he says instead, remembering his captain’s words from that first day. The word comes surprisingly easy to him. “He’s really strong, and he’s fighting the marines while I get you out.”

There is more movement inside, and Marco senses a few of the voices shuffle slightly closer. He can’t be sure with so many of them, but he thinks they don’t seem as afraid as before.

“If you’re worried about the devil fruit user, well…” Marco looks down, to his bloodied foot. “It’s already taken care of. He’s dead.”

And then, finally, one of the girls inside walks all the way to the door. From the way her voice reaches him, Marco thinks she is talking into the keyhole.

“Do you have the key? The door is locked.”

Marco grimaces. He didn’t even think to search the dead marine for the _obviously existing_ keys earlier. Oh, well, there is no need to go back.

“More or less. Could you all move to the sides of the door and stay as close to the wall as you can?”

Thick wood and some iron bars may be enough to keep a few prisoners in, but they aren’t a very good defense. Marco imbues his leg with the strengthening power, waits until all the girls are out of the way, and kicks the door in.

 

* * *

 

 

It has taken Newgate far longer than he is comfortable with to clear the main floor of marines. He hasn’t run into many of them since he started going up the stairs, but he hasn’t run into any devil fruit user, either. His progress has been hindered by the fact that he has stopped at every floor to make sure Marco isn’t there, just in case (he doesn’t know how things might go if the fruit user runs into Marco, he doesn’t _want_ to think about it, but he can’t risk running all the way up while, say, his son has been taken to some other room. _No way in hell_ ).

He reaches the top of the stairs on the fourth floor (and he saw five from outside, _damn_ , he has no time to waste locating another staircase) and it is then that he hears the steps. They undoubtedly belong to a group of people, but they are slow and, Newgate would say, cautious. Nothing at all like the fast and sure steps of the marines he has encountered so far.

Letting out a hopeful sigh of relief, Newgate opens the door of the landing to a long hallway and, sure enough, he sees a group of young people advancing slowly through the hallway, some of them helping others to walk. Marco is at the head of the group, and relief floods Newgate when he sees that Marco is _fine_.

Marco smiles when he sees Newgate, a relieved expression that is accompanied by his shoulders sagging. It is then that Newgate notices the dried blood covering Marco’s left foot. And, despite his relieved reaction, Marco still looks off somehow, even if Newgate can’t pinpoint exactly what the problem is.

The kids stop, looking at Newgate with expected apprehension (some of the girls, he notices, are wrapped in sheets and a few wear torn shirts, but most of the kids are only in their underwear and wounded. It’s particularly obvious on the boys, who are all shirtless).

Marco walks up to him.

“Hey, Ca—“ he cuts himself for some reason, hesitates for a moment, and glances down to the floor before continuing. “Pops.”

Newgate freezes. Marco has called him Pops. _Pops_. He has to struggle not to react, because there are a bunch of terrified kids that will be even more terrified if the giant dude with the huge as fuck bisento bursts out laughing for no apparent reason.

Marco’s next words effectively snuff Newgate’s impulse to laugh.

“Listen, about the devil fruit user…” A shadow crosses Marco’s eyes, and Newgate _knows_. He is too late. “I killed him.”

_How?_ Newgate wants to asks. How did Marco overcome that power when Newgate is certain that he knows what Marco saw. What he _went through_. But this isn’t the time nor the place for that conversation, not when he knows the reason Marco looks off is because he is forcing himself to stay calm.

Newgate nods in acceptance of the news, his eyes flicking down to Marco’s bloodied foot again.

“Also,” Marco continues in what Newgate realizes now is a forcefully relaxed voice, “apparently the marines who are against all of this have been imprisoned, and they,” Marco glances back to the group behind him, “wondered if we could get them out. Some tried to help them.”

Newgate agrees. Having some marines backing up their claims will probably help this island when they have to deal with the government or the marines over this.

“Any idea where the cells are?”

Marco just shrugs.

 

* * *

 

 

Newgate stands back with Marco and just watches. The town’s streets were empty when they arrived, but people have started to come out, and now the streets are full of tearful reunions and reluctantly happy people who are looking around as if they expect to either wake up or have this taken away somehow.

The marines they have freed have stayed back at the base, and while they realized that Newgate and Marco are pirates, they also said it will take at least until tonight before they can contact headquarters (Newgate can appreciate the gesture for what it is). The last Newgate saw before leaving the base was two of the formerly imprisoned marines gleefully dragging one of the soldiers Newgate didn’t kill off to the cells.

“We should go,” Newgate says, realizing that it is only a matter of time before the townspeople snap out of their reunion-induced daze and approach them. Under normal circumstances, Newgate wouldn’t mind the gratitude (he might even stick around to party a little), but Marco is in no state to be exposed to a grateful crowd.

Marco nods and they turn around. Even with Newgate’s size, it’s easy to go unnoticed when nobody is paying attention.

“What about provisions?” Marco asks once they are walking down an empty street.

“We still have food left for a few days. We can stop to buy more at an island that won’t soon be teeming with marines.”

“And the chair? We paid for that.”

Newgate smiles down at Marco.

“Payment for that broken counter.” Even though Marco was obviously pleased with himself when he told Newgate about that, Newgate isn’t surprised by Marco’s lack of reaction.

Whatever is going through Marco’s mind right now, Newgate doesn’t like it. He can’t wait until they are out at sea so they can actually talk about what happened.


	27. The Price of Freedom, Part VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been holding onto this chapter for… a while, let’s say. I don’t like it, it was meant to be beautiful and it’s just awkward, but I’ve come to accept that if I haven’t managed to write anything better, then I won’t do it. So here we are.

They don’t speak as they board their small ship on the now practically empty port, don’t speak as they set sail, and keep silent until the island is but a dot on the horizon.

Newgate is painfully aware of Marco’s forced calm, of how Marco’s hands shake the slightest bit when he fishes the map out of the bag to look for their next destination.

That can wait.

“What happened back there?” Newgate asks. This is something they need to talk about, something that Marco _has_ to get out of his chest lest it festers and… it’s just _not_ an option.

“I killed the devil fruit user,” Marco says in that disturbingly even voice that covers up how shaken he is much better than his hands do. Newgate hasn’t heard that particular tone since the early days.

“I know, but _how_?” Because it makes no sense. Marco is strong, Newgate knows that, but he also knows _what_ Marco must have seen, and with what Newgate has learned of that devil fruit… “Don’t get me wrong,” Newgate continues when Marco doesn’t speak, “I’m _really_ glad that you did, and extremely relieved that he didn’t get you, but…” Newgate trails off, hoping that Marco will answer now that Newgate has made it as clear as he can that he isn’t angry or bothered.

Marco looks down at the map, but it’s clear that he isn’t paying it any attention anymore.

“I… well, it’s weird,” Marco begins, hesitant. He fiddles with one of the corners of the map and very resolutely doesn’t look up. “I’m not crazy, okay?” Marco says, and Newgate can’t fathom why he thinks it’s necessary to clarify that. “I thought I’d gone crazy, at first, because I’d been… _there_ for a while when it happened,” Marco’s voice grows smaller as he speaks, and it’s a miracle he hasn’t ripped the corner of the paper off, “but I’m really not.”

“I know,” Newgate says. He has no idea what Marco is talking about, but anything that helped him shake that power off is obviously real. Marco’s shoulders sag in clear relief. “What is it?”

“I can hear… well, not exactly hear, more like sense, these sort of voices. They aren’t voices, either, though; they’re more like presences. So I could tell there was only one person with me, even if I was seeing and hearing more.”

Newgate blinks, because there is no way that Marco has said what Newgate thinks that Marco has said. Except because he _has_.

“Is there,” Newgate begins, firmly forcing himself to push down the startled laugh that wants to escape him, “anything else? Like, say,” Newgate’s eyes wander down to Marco’s arms, suddenly realizing an incongruence: even if Marco’s power would have healed him, the sleeves of whichever arm Marco punched that counter with should be ripped, but they are both whole, “can you prevent damage from happening?”

Marco’s head shots up, and his eyes are fully open for once. He clearly wasn’t expecting that.

Newgate grins before Marco can speak.

“That’s called haki, Marco. I don’t know that much about it, but it’s a damn good thing. I’ve heard it’s a requirement for marines to become vice admirals, and strong pirates make a big deal out of it.”

Marco blinks, so surprised that he seems out of words. He shakes his head.

“So it’s normal?”

“Of course,” Newgate says, and he’s about to make a lighthearted comment about being jealous of Marco when he realizes something important. “You’ve been holding it back, haven’t you?”

Marco looks down, but he nods.

Newgate holds back a sigh. He thought they were past hiding something of this magnitude, but obviously he was wrong. He isn’t angry, not at Marco, but he is sick of a world that makes such behavior a necessity in too many circumstances.

Newgate walks up to Marco and crouches down before him, carefully resting his hand on Marco’s arm. Marco looks up at him.

“You have no reason to be ashamed, you know that, right?”

Marco nods, and Newgate knows him well enough to realize that now Marco is more ashamed of the fact that he hid his haki than he is of having it. He also has that expression he gets when he’s contemplating the possibility of asking something he isn’t sure about. Newgate waits.

“Can I ask you something?” Marco finally speaks.

“Of course.”

“That first day, when you asked me to join your crew, you also asked me to be your son. Do you still…?” Marco bites his bottom lip, and Newgate finds it difficult not to burst out laughing. He is an adult, damn it, and he’s supposed to act as such instead of just laughing in a mix of happiness and victory.

So instead Newgate grins.

“I couldn’t have found a better son.”


	28. To Be a Pirate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am with another example of “this was supposed to be a single chapter but I ended up writing four”. Technically, I could’ve made it into three, but given that the single chapter goal was impossible, I decided that four chapters looked better. I’ll be posting them throughout the month if everything goes well :)

There is something to be said about the simple pleasure of having your pirate flag flapping in the wind as you approach an island, even if that flag is an as of yet unknown symbol in a small ship and thus unlikely to elicit anything more than wary looks from the population.

“It doesn’t look like there is a marine base,” Marco calls from the crow’s nest, binoculars in hand, and Newgate is delighted to notice the faint dry undertone to Marco’s voice.

Newgate laughs.

It’s good to have confirmation, of course, even if Newgate already knew the unlikelihood of finding two unexpected bases in a row. Newgate has _plans_ for this island. Oh, nothing bad or remotely pirate-like, but it’s time for Marco to move around a town on his own. Marco agrees (Newgate believes that Marco’s rescue and posterior interaction with the kidnapped kids did wonders for Marco’s confidence), and the fact that Marco is a haki user has helped to ease Newgate’s worries somewhat. He has heard some stories, and while he isn’t sure how much of them he is willing to believe, the fact remains that the two of them have spent the last four days testing Marco’s haki. Marco can predict attacks, he can strengthen both his hits and his body’s resistance (even if, much to Marco’s consternation, Newgate’s strength remains the superior one, but Marco is still a teenager), and he has confirmed that he can tell Newgate’s presence apart in a crowd. This last one is a great relief, because it means that Marco can locate him at any given time. After recent events, Newgate has no doubt that Marco will seek him out if there is any need for it.

“Then I guess we’ll have a calm stay,” Newgate replies.

Marco jumps down to land next to him.

“Does that mean you don’t plan to go to some seedy bar the moment I’m out of your sight?” Marco asks casually, and by now Newgate can’t even pretend to be surprised that Marco has realized shitty bars are one of Newgate’s preferred haunts on any town.

“I assure you I can get drunk without starting any fights.”

Marco doesn’t raise his eyebrows, but the side look he gives Newgate is a pretty clear message all by itself. _That’s not what happened last time_.

It’s too good of an opening to pass, and Marco already knows that Newgate is proud of him for the incident, so Newgate focuses on steering the ship before giving his casual response.

“And, technically, _you_ started that fight.”

 

* * *

 

 

Marco has an assignment aside from his intended purchases. Pops has asked him to look for another, more recent, map to avoid a repeat incident of running into a marine base. There was a comment about how ten different maps would be ideal, but Marco is reasonably certain one map will do.

Pops has also suggested that Marco could see if there is any information on sailing the Grand Line, because they will head there eventually. Given the stories Marco has heard of Pops’ brief adventure there, it seems like a good idea.

But, first and foremost, Marco buys himself a new bag in a nice blue shade, moves his belongings there, and abandons the old bag in an alleyway. It will be of use to someone that needs it, but Marco doesn’t want anything to do with that thing.

 

* * *

 

 

There are rumors about the incident at the marine base.

Newgate isn’t surprised: people must have talked before whoever was sent to investigate that mess could silence them, and there are the many ships that fled the island during the fight. Whether it was through merchants giving a warning to avoid the place, or pirates spreading the word that the island might no longer be a dangerous location, the fact remains that by now the story is a well known one.

The details, however, are hazy at best. Enough of the versions Newgate has heard mention the earthquakes, making them a widely accepted fact (even if their origin is doubted, given how little people are willing to admit to the existence of devil fruits around these parts), but most details have too many versions for people to know which one is the truth. Chief amongst these is the identity of the perpetrators. Newgate nearly chokes in his rum when he hears some pirates outright laugh about the story that says only two guys attacked the base. Apparently, the most widely accepted version is that one of the big name crews of this sea is behind the attack, even if none of them has stepped forward to claim they did it. Privately, Newgate thinks no one has taken advantage of the incident to boost their reputation because they are worried about offending the real perpetrators and drawing their attention.

From what Newgate has overheard amongst the gossip, and pirates gossip _a lot_ , that base had one hell of a bad reputation, which means people are both impressed and probably a little intimidated.

Newgate has mostly sat by himself so far, because he doesn’t want to risk slipping and then having to beat the entire bar up to prove that yes, he was one of the people who attacked the place. The lack of bounties so far has led Newgate to believe that no one took any pictures of them, and he is in no hurry to change the situation if he can avoid it.

Newgate isn’t the only one not getting involved in any of the many conversations and arguments over the pretty packed place. There is a kid sitting a few stools down by the bar, past a loud group of plastered pirates (Newgate recognizes one of them as a small fry ten million bounty), and he is clearly not part of any group. Newgate has been watching him on an off for the better part of an hour out of curiosity, and the kid hasn’t interacted with anyone other than to ask the bartender for a refill. It’s dubious that he is part of any of the crews present here. At first Newgate thought the kid was a bounty hunter, but now he isn’t so sure. The kid _is_ scanning the room, but he’s missing the calculating look of someone who is measuring potential opponents. And yet, this kind of place isn’t exactly where the locals from any island hang out unless they are working.

Eventually his curiosity gets the better of him.

“Is that kid old enough to drink?” Newgate asks when the bartender comes to refill his mug, even though the kid looks to be in his early twenties. It’s a better conversation starter than asking if the kid came in with any of the pirates.

The bartender scoffs.

“Like I care about ages. Have you seen this place?” He gestures around with the bottle. “Pretty sure he is, though.”

There is something in the way the bartender speaks as he glances at the kid that supports Newgate’s thoughts.

“He’s from around here?”

“Yeah. Been hanging around the bar for a month. Most people avoid the place, but he wants to be a pirate or some shit,” the bartender replies, half of the sentence muttered as he wanders away.

Newgate raises his eyebrows.

A month? If the bar’s current patronage is anything to go by, Newgate would say many pirates must have been by the bar during that time. The kid is large and looks strong enough, he has the kind of physique that is easily accepted in a pirate crew, and yet he’s still here?

Curiosity duly piqued, Newgate stands up, takes his mug, and moves around the drunken group to settle next to the kid. He is not as tall as Newgate, but the difference is far less than what Newgate is used to.

“I hear you want to be a pirate?”

The kid looks over at him, and Newgate awards him mental points for the lack of an intimidated or wary look once he has taken Newgate in.

“Yeah. Are you offering?” the kid asks, not rude but not particularly interested either, as if he’s had this conversation before and doesn’t expect much of it. He probably has.

“Not really. I was just curious.” Because Newgate isn’t about to ask a complete stranger to join his crew when he hasn’t even had a chance to guess if that stranger is a scumbag. And, even if the kid isn’t a scumbag, Newgate won’t make any offers without talking to Marco first. Marco’s comfort is far more important than having a larger crew.

“Did the old man send you over?” the kid asks, gesturing with his glass to the bartender. “He’s been trying to get me out of here for weeks,” he mutters, taking a sip from his drink.

“Why? You pay for that booze, don’t you?”

“Yeah. But I start fights, too.”

“Any particular reason for that?”

The kid shrugs.

“Many guys don’t take it well when I say I’m not interested in joining their crew after all.”

Newgate has to laugh. It seems he’s not the only one who is analyzing his company’s character.

“I take it you’re not the looting towns and murdering type if you still haven’t found a crew.” The kid shrugs a confirmation and drinks again. “What are you looking for?”

The kid takes a moment to consider, staring down at his mostly empty glass.

“It’d be easier to say what I’m _not_ looking for. I don’t want a crew where people will be shot for disagreeing with the captain or doing something someone else won’t like. As you’ve said, I don’t want a crew that will attack civilians for no other reason than killing or stealing. I don’t want… I don’t want to be somewhere where I can’t trust the people around me not to stab me in the back if they think it’ll benefit them.”

Newgate stares. Over two months ago, he would’ve offered this kid to join his crew without a second thought after hearing those words. Now, however, he has to be more careful.

“I’m not making any offers,” Newgate starts, slow, “but my crew is not one where those things will happen. It’s small now, minuscule really, but… maybe you could join it.”

“But you have to ask your captain?” the kid guesses, and while it’s a reasonable deduction given Newgate’s words, it takes Newgate a considerable effort not to laugh.

“Nah. I’m the captain, but I’ve got a first mate to consult about it.”

The way the kid reacts is just another indicator that Newgate will like him. He doesn’t make any disdainful comment or expression at the idea of a captain taking someone else’s opinion into account before making a decision. His shoulders actually loosen a little, as if he is more willing to believe Newgate’s assessment that he might fit into the crew.

The kid nods.

“Is there anywhere we can meet in, say, two hours? A place with food where we’re not likely to end up with someone trying to stab us for no reason?” Newgate asks. He thinks he should be able to find Marco easily enough in that time; Marco is still either buying the navigation supplies or looking for him. If it’s the first, there can’t be that many shops to search, and if it’s the second, then they’ll meet soon enough no matter what direction Newgate takes. The wonders of haki. He really can’t wait to have it himself.

“Sure, there’s a place near the plaza that’s pretty good and easy to find. Finn’s. It’s got an awful green and blue awning that’s impossible to miss.”

Newgate nods, committing the name and short description to memory.

“What’s your name, by the way? I’m Edward Newgate.”

“Jozu.”


	29. The First Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once it became clear that this part wouldn’t be a single chapter, I decided I wanted this scene to have its own chapter despite it being short. I’ll post the next one next week :)

Newgate runs into Marco not even fifteen minutes after leaving the bar. As it turns out, Marco seems to be done with his shopping. He has a new bag that looks considerably fuller than the one he left the ship with.

Marco raises a surprised eyebrow when he sees Newgate, but he doesn’t say anything. Newgate is pretty sure that, for a moment, there was a quip about expecting to find him passed out somewhere or something of the sort at the tip of Marco’s tongue. He wishes Marco would’ve shared it, but a little sass this morning is already more than Marco displays most of the time.

“How did it go?” Newgate asks, stepping closer to Marco. They move to one side of the street to avoid blocking the path.

“Pretty well. I decided to get two maps that are supposedly recent, so we shouldn’t run into any more surprises. There wasn’t much about sailing the Grand Line, though.”

That isn’t a surprise. While Newgate brought the idea up yesterday, they are nowhere near the Reverse Mountain and the information must be scarce around here.

“We have time for that,” he says instead, and then hesitates. Newgate has been worrying about how Marco would react to the _presence_ of a third person on their ship, and suddenly realizes he hasn’t thought at all about how to broach the subject. Every sentence he can think of sounds pressuring in his mind. He doesn’t want Marco to think he has no choice here.

“What?” Marco asks eventually, and while he sounds calm enough, there is a slight note of apprehension in his voice.

 _Damn_.

Newgate isn’t very good at controlling his facial expressions.

He guesses the best he can do is go straight to the point.

“How do you feel about the idea of someone joining the crew?”

Marco is way better than Newgate at controlling his expressions, but he isn’t perfect, and Newgate has caught him off guard enough with his question to notice the small grimace that takes over Marco’s face before he can school his features back into a calm image.

“You’ve met someone you like,” Marco says instead of replying, and then nods to himself before Newgate can say anything in reply. “Well, of course. This is supposed to be a pirate crew, not a nursery.”

“Don’t say that,” Newgate says, his voice coming out harsher than he would have liked. A couple weeks ago Marco would have recoiled, Newgate has no doubt of that, but now he doesn’t.

“It’s true,” Marco says with a too casual shrug. “And I don’t like the idea, if I’m being honest, but…” He looks down at his feet. “This is like the first time we went to an island. I don’t think I’ll _ever_ like the idea of anyone joining us if it’s up to me.”

“But?” Newgate asks, because he is certain that Marco isn’t actually refusing the idea. Newgate isn’t sure if he should feel worried or proud about it. Forcing one’s limits can be dangerous, but interacting with other people in a closer way is something Marco will need to learn to do sooner or later.

“But I think you wouldn’t consider this if you didn’t think this person was worth something.”

Newgate nods.

“If it turns out I’m wrong, you come first. You know that, don’t you?” he asks, because while he doesn’t think Marco has forgotten, a reminder is never a bad thing.

A tiny smile pulls at Marco’s lips.

“Yeah, I do.” He nods, more to himself than to Newgate, then looks up. “Can I put a couple conditions to this?”

“Anything,” Newgate assures him, privately thrilled that Marco has enough self-awareness to look out for himself without prompting.

“I know you _have_ to reveal we’re devil fruit users, in case we fall to the sea and all that, but could you not say what my fruit is?” Newgate nods. He won’t argue the point, not when Marco is still clearly not comfortable with his power. Or what that power has brought him. “And don’t mention the haki, either. Just in case.” Just in case Newgate turns out to be wrong and Marco needs to defend himself at some point. Newgate gets the message, and he nods again.

“I doubt he even knows haki exists,” Newgate says lightly, trying to ease the mood a little. Marco obligingly raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “I learned about it from a pirate who’d been to the New World when I was in the Grand Line. Most of the people who heard the story thought he was crazy. Apparently haki isn’t that well known outside of the New World.”

Marco hums noncommittally, and Newgate knows he is filing that fact away for future reference.

“Anyway,” Newgate continues, looking around, “I told Jozu we, or just me if you prefer, would meet him in a little over an hour, so what do you say we buy that chair of yours in the meantime?”

“If you don’t take as long as last time…” Marco comments, and very pointedly trails off.

Newgate has to laugh. Marco is shaping up to be a sassy little shit.

He moves to start down the street, but stops when he realizes that Marco isn’t following him. Newgate turns around to see Marco biting his lower lip with a conflicted expression. Marco looks at him and jogs up to his side.

Newgate is still debating how to ask when Marco speaks.

“Pops… don’t tell him about… _me_ either. Please.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Newgate assures him.

That is Marco’s story, and it’s up to him to decide if and when he wants to share it with anyone. Newgate is just here to punch anyone who reacts the wrong way to the story if Marco ever decides to share it.


	30. Friendly Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I’d post this week, so here’s the next chapter :D

Jozu feels cautiously hopeful. He has wanted to be a pirate for years now, but he only took active steps to achieve it recently, now that there is nothing tying him to this place anymore.

He has met many kinds of pirates over the past month, though unfortunately they all fell under the category of people Jozu would rather fight than join. There is something about this Newgate guy, though, that makes Jozu think he might actually be different.

Jozu wasn’t lying when he said old man Ben has been trying to get him out of his bar almost from the beginning. Ben routinely sends pirate captains Jozu’s way in hopes that one of them will take him away. Now, Jozu is aware that he looks like the perfect candidate for a pirate ship, but for some reason these captains tend to think that Jozu’s desire to become a pirate means they can act like entitled assholes and Jozu will follow them. That is _not_ the case.

Newgate, however, was as polite as someone can be in a dive bar catering to pirates, and he didn’t expect anything from Jozu. In fact, he didn’t _offer_ anything, not until he’s spoken to his first mate. A captain’s willingness to take his crew’s opinions into account is a very good sign. The fact that Newgate only mentioned a first mate means this is likely a two person crew at the moment, but that is irrelevant. All pirate crews start out small.

Jozu is currently waiting at the location he told Newgate. Finn’s is a much calmer bar visited mainly by locals looking for a meal and a time to hang out with friends. It’s not a place for families, though, which means somewhat coarse behavior isn’t frowned upon as long as it doesn’t turn into anything more unpleasant. Also, because it is summer, they have brought some tables outside, and there is plenty of space for larger-than-average humans to sit comfortably.

Jozu spots Newgate walking down the street at a distance, but his eyes trail down to the small figure walking next to him. It’s a blond kid, of fifteen or maybe sixteen years of age, walking with his hands shoved into his pant pockets and a bag slung over his right shoulder. From what Jozu can see, he’s got some muscles in him, but he looks like he still needs a good amount of serious training before he can put up a decent fight against a seasoned pirate. As they come closer, Jozu gets a good look at the kid’s face. He has an impressively bored expression on, which is _so_ characteristic of a teenager trying to look older and adult that Jozu has to hold back a snort.

This kid is clearly the first mate, so it will be better not to antagonize him in case that Jozu decides to join their crew.

The introductions are quick. The kid’s name is Marco, and he turns out to be the navigator aside from the first mate. Jozu is surprised when they shake hands, because Marco’s comparatively tiny hand turns out to have more strength than Jozu had expected.

Newgate and Marco occupy two of the remaining chairs at the table and Marco immediately reaches for one of the menus. Jozu briefly wonders if Marco is the same bottomless pit that so many teenage boys are before he is distracted by Newgate.

 

* * *

 

 

The conversation is, at the very least, interesting.

“That is one of the weirdest dreams I have ever heard,” Jozu says truthfully. He is of the opinion that whatever crew he joins has to be one where he can speak his mind openly. This is as good a chance to test it as any.

Newgate laughs.

“It’s been called worse.”

Jozu has no trouble imagining it. He looks at Marco, who’s drinking from a large glass of juice and has the last bits of a steak that shouldn’t have fit his slim body on his plate.

“You’re okay with that dream?” Jozu asks, and he’s pretty sure a _look_ crosses Marco’s eyes before Marco carefully puts the glass down. Jozu has no idea what the look means.

“It’s a good dream,” Marco replies with an edge to his voice that says there is a story behind that statement.

Jozu nods and doesn’t ask. He thinks it’s too early for background stories.

“So, out of curiosity,” Newgate speaks, sounding amused enough that Jozu is certain he isn’t offended, “what are your thoughts on devil fruits?”

Jozu blinks. That is an odd question he hadn’t even thought he would be asked.

“I’ve heard too many weird stories not to believe they’re real.” Most of those stories came from that nearby island where the marine base was just destroyed, but that’s irrelevant information. “Never met a devil fruit user, though.”

“Nah, you’ve met two, now,” Newgate says with a grin.

Jozu blinks, caught completely off guard. He has heard, more times than he can count, that the Grand Line is brimming with devil fruit users. It’s one of the many reasons so many people find the place daunting. At least those who believe in the fruits’ existence. And yet he has managed to find himself sitting not with one, but _two_ devil fruit users? This is becoming more interesting by the second.

“Why tell me?” Jozu asks.

Newgate doesn’t quite grimace, but it looks close.

“You see, while devil fruit powers are extremely useful, that rumor that fruit users can’t swim is, unfortunately, true.”

“So, if either of you were to fall into the sea, I’d have to get you out,” Jozu guesses, and Newgate nods. Jozu nods back. “Okay. I’m a good swimmer.”

Newgate grins, clearly satisfied with his answer. He then looks at Marco, and Jozu watches curiously as a silent conversation seems to take place between them. Jozu can’t even try to guess the messages, even if he knows it’s about him, though it ends when Marco nods.

Newgate turns back to Jozu with a grin.

“Do we have your approval, then?”

That is when Jozu understands what that silent conversation was exactly about. _Marco_ is the one with the final say on whether Jozu can join them or not? That’s surprising, to say the least. One thing is for a captain to take the crew’s opinions into account, but to let someone else make the choice… there is _definitely_ a story behind that.

“I have one last question,” Jozu says in lieu of an answer. Newgate gestures for him to go ahead. “What are your objectives?”

Newgate grins again.

“We’re going to the Grand Line, of course. We’ll head there as soon as we have a couple more crewmembers and the necessary tools to navigate the place.”

That sounds like a _great_ plan as far as Jozu is concerned.

 

* * *

 

 

Jozu heads back home to pack. They will leave the island tomorrow, because there is still a fair deal of shopping to do. According to Newgate — _Jozu’s new captain_ , who wants his crew to be his family for some reason— all their spare beds are too small for Jozu, and thus they will have to buy a new one. They are almost out of supplies, and Marco muttered something about having to go over the list now that they are three people instead of two.

It was late by the time they finished talking, so they have agreed to meet again tomorrow to take care of everything.

Jozu is joining the crew of two seemingly decent _devil fruit users_ who want to go to the _Grand Line_.

This is better than anything Jozu dared to hope for when he decided to look for a pirate crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the first look at Jozu’s POV :)
> 
> Many people on ffnet asked about whether Jozu has his devil fruit or not: he doesn’t, not yet. Given the rarity of devil fruits outside the Grand Line, two of them meeting is already uncommon, and three of them (especially being the only ones currently in the crew) would be too much. Let’s say Jozu gets his powers sometime after he’s in the crew.


	31. No Such Thing as a Calm Day

Marco isn’t sure how he feels. Back before they went to meet Jozu, Pops told him that he would handle the conversation, and to distract himself with something to avoid being dragged into it. So Marco spent a good five minutes pretending to decide what he wanted from the menu while he listened in, and then he took even more time than usual eating as he paid careful attention to everything.

Marco is not a great judge of character, but he has been exposed to so many scumbags during his life that he can spot and catalogue them easily, and he doesn’t _think_ Jozu fits into any of the many categories Marco created over the years. Still, the fact remains that Marco isn’t good at evaluating anyone who _isn’t_ an absolute piece of shit, and so he is out of his depth where Jozu is concerned. He didn’t see anything off about him, and so he agreed when Pops asked for his opinion, but Marco is… nervous.

Giving his attempt to sleep up as a bad job, Marco gets out of bed and walks out to the deck.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco isn’t in the room when Newgate wakes up.

Newgate finds him outside, bent over a sketch book in a very awkward-looking position.

“Wouldn’t you be better off with a table?” Newgate asks, amused more than anything else because he knows Marco’s body won’t resent the position.

“We only have two tables,” Marco replies distractedly, still sketching.

“Maybe we should add one to the list, then. A folding one, perhaps.”

It’s then that Marco looks up at him.

“We’ll run out of money if we keep spending so much.”

Newgate laughs, he really can’t help it. They have barely spent a million belis out of the massive amount of money they exchanged. Still, it makes sense that Marco worries.

“So? We’ll fight some pirates and take their treasure if that happens.”

 

* * *

 

 

Finding furniture that is comfortable for him is difficult and annoyingly expensive, so Jozu has decided to brave the odd looks and drag his own bed to the port where he agreed to meet Newgate and Marco this morning.

Newgate looks amused when he sees the bed, but it’s clear that he understands. Marco doesn’t have much of a reaction, he just shrugs and points out one of the smaller beds in the cabin will have to go.

The ship is… not small. Oh, it would not fit many more people of his or Newgate’s size, but it’s larger than Jozu expected. He wouldn’t be surprised to discover there are one or two empty rooms in it.

Getting his bed in place is easy enough. Newgate moves the unused bed out of the large shared cabin —and isn’t it odd that they all share a room when they could have individual ones? Not that Jozu minds— and Jozu pushes his bed against the now empty wall. The bed that is clearly Marco’s looks tiny in comparison to the other two. There is a short moment of silence as they all stare at the furniture in the room, and then Newgate chuckles.

“I think we’ll need a new closet, too,” he says, pointing to one of the smaller closets that must be the empty one. It’s larger than Jozu’s packed bag, but his stuff won’t fit well once Jozu pulls it out.

Marco takes a small notebook and a pen out of his bag and jots down what Jozu imagines is ‘closet’.

They leave the ship once Newgate has moved the empty closet to wherever he left the bed.

“So, Jozu, you’re from around here. Any suggestions for the furniture?”

“That depends on how much you’re willing to spend,” Jozu replies, going over the varied shops in his head, from the second-hand ones he usually frequents to the fancy ones that have outrageous price tags.

“Money is no issue,” Newgate assures him, waving a dismissive hand.

 

* * *

 

 

The shopping trip takes longer than Jozu expected, and he receives a good number of quizzical looks from people who know him, but nobody stops to ask. Marco’s list is extremely exhaustive, to the point that he has listed the different spices they need and a warning of no more than a certain amount of quickly perishable foods. Jozu is actually impressed at the level of organization, something he wouldn’t have expected from a kid.

Newgate wasn’t joking about money not being an issue. He doesn’t look at price tags twice before paying, and he even emptied an entire aisle of canned soup at one point. To Jozu, who is used to carefully count and administer his coins, this is a surreal experience. A crew of two people or not, it quickly becomes clear that Newgate and Marco have money to spare.

They have left the second grocery store and Marco is checking if they are missing anything from the list when an explosion shakes the entire street. It’s not here, but nearby, and Jozu has enough experience with these things to recognize the sound of cannon fire when he hears it. The port, then.

“Well, damn,” Newgate mutters in annoyance.

“Should we check it out? Our ship is there,” Marco says calmly.

_Another point to the kid_ , Jozu thinks upon noticing Marco’s lack of panic. Marco isn’t feigning calm, he is simply not scared.

“Sure. Let’s see if we have to intervene,” Newgate agrees, and then looks askance at Jozu. Jozu nods, because there is no way he’s sitting this out. He may be leaving, but he has grown up here.

They have to run through the mass of people trying to flee the port, but they eventually reach the place. The pirates are ransacking most of the port businesses with no opposition, and Jozu can see a few bodies strewn over the floor. He recognizes the police uniforms some of them are wearing.

Someone yells to call the marines.

“Oh, fuck,” Marco exclaims, and then looks at Newgate. “You think they’re in any state to come?”

“Doubtful,” Newgate replies after a short pause. “I think this might actually be on us.”

“Why?” Jozu can’t resist asking.

Marco and Newgate exchange a look.

“Have you heard about that mess with the marine base?” Marco asks, and Jozu realizes this is the first time Marco addresses him directly without Jozu having spoken to him first. Jozu nods. “That was us.”

And then Marco is running, heading straight for two pirates. One of them shots at him, and before Jozu can even shout a warning Marco has dodged out of the way and is directly in front of the pirates. Marco kicks the one who shot him against the other with enough strength to send them to the ground.

Marco shouldn’t have that strength.

_Is that the devil fruit?_

“Well, let’s go help,” Newgate says, snapping Jozu out of his thoughts. Newgate is grinning.

Jozu sees confirmation of Marco’s claim about the attack on the marine base when Newgate punches the air and a shockwave throws everybody in the port area except for Marco —who jumps higher than he should be able to— to the ground.

_That_ is definitely the devil fruit.

Well, Jozu may not be a devil fruit user, but he sure can beat up a bunch of assholes with no trouble.

 

* * *

 

 

“You sank their ship,” Jozu says next to Newgate. “We could’ve stolen their treasure.”

Newgate laughs. That’s true, yes, but unfortunately that particular attack was unavoidable. Some douchebag thought it was a good idea to go back on board and start firing the cannons on the port.

“Don’t worry. We’ve got a long time to go before money is an issue.”

They have piled the surviving pirates at the center of the port area. Newgate almost suggested tying them up, but fortunately he managed to stop himself before he did. He doesn’t know how Marco would react to such a proposal, and he doesn’t want to find out. Anyway, these guys are unconscious, and Marco is meticulously breaking all the weapons that survived the fight. Newgate thinks Marco finds some enjoyment in stepping on swords and guns to snap them, because that is his chosen method. It’s the same thing he did to that guard’s weapon back at the marine base.

“He’s very strong,” Jozu comments, and Newgate grins proudly.

“I know. Don’t tell me, you saw him and thought he wasn’t all that strong?”

Jozu smiles slightly in embarrassment.

“He doesn’t _look_ strong, but I guess you can’t base things on appearances when it comes to devil fruit users.”

Newgate doesn’t correct him. He doesn’t say that Marco didn’t use his devil fruit at all during the fight, that Marco was very careful to dodge _everything_ to avoid any blue flames appearing anywhere. Instead, Newgate nods in agreement.

After all, Jozu may be wrong in the conclusion he seems to have reached about Marco’s power, but the statement itself is nothing short of the truth.


	32. Settling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, here is the new chapter. Introducing a new character feels like starting a story all over again, and that’s… not the easiest or my favorite part of writing.
> 
> Recently, I started a side blog on tumblr focused on my writing. There you’ll find updates of what I’m writing at the time, how advanced the update for a story is, me whining over this or that writing-related thing and even some of the plot ideas that cross my mind.
> 
> For some reason I can’t get links to work on ANs, so here’s the URL: https://maisstories.tumblr.com/

They leave the island immediately, forgoing the original plan of eating lunch before setting sail. Pops pointed out that even with the nearby base destroyed it is only a matter of time before the marines show up.

Once they are out at sea, the atmosphere becomes odd, or so Marco thinks. Jozu and Pops are setting up Jozu’s new closet, and Marco has climbed up to the crow’s nest to keep an eye out. Well, that is his official reason, because the truth is that they rarely bother to go up into the crow’s nest for that.

His heart has been beating in odd patterns all morning and, were it possible, Marco would think he is a heartbeat away from a stroke.

This is like his first few days on the ship all over again, except that this time Marco _does_ have something to lose other than his own life.

Jozu is polite enough, at least as far as Marco can tell from his brief exposure to politeness during his life;  he hasn’t had any odd reactions that would trigger Marco’s alarms, and Marco is fairly certain that he hasn’t lied to them either. Marco is closely acquainted with deceit.

However, Marco is at a complete loss. Pops has been shouldering the brunt of conversation so far, Marco keeping to himself and only speaking to point out shopping-related things or to give information he knew was true in one occasion, but it’s only a matter of time before Marco has to _talk_ to Jozu. Probably far sooner than he would like. How does he do that? Talking to Pops is one thing, Pops knows just how limited Marco is about everything, and he doesn’t expect much out of Marco in that regard, but Jozu… Jozu most likely believes that Marco is an average teenager, and as much as Marco would like to keep up that facade, he doesn’t know _how_. What do normal teenagers _do_? What do they like? What do they know? They certainly know more about the world than Marco does, and they don’t stop to stare at random things. And they sure as hell don’t have to use all of their willpower to approach a store counter and ask a simple question.

“Marco,” Pops calls from below, breaking Marco’s train of thought. It’s probably for the best, because Marco wasn’t getting anywhere.

Marco leans over the railing. Pops is almost below him, and Jozu is standing just a few steps behind.

“Yeah?” Marco asks. He can do this, it’s probably just answering a question.

“Get down here, it’s lunchtime,” Pops says. Not a question, then.

Marco has already managed a meal around Jozu, he can do it again. All he has to do is keep himself busy and eating at all times.

Nodding, Marco holds onto the railing and vaults over it, dropping into a crouch a few steps away from Pops. When he stands up, he catches Jozu’s eyes on him. Marco tries to smile (people smile at those who aren’t enemies, don’t they?), but he knows he isn’t very successful.

 

* * *

 

 

Jozu’s cooking skills are passable enough to have kept himself alive so far, and they come in handy now. Neither Newgate nor Marco are really cooks, but they know how to throw a meal together. They divide the tasks between the three of them, Marco chopping up the smaller vegetables while Jozu and Newgate handle the meat and pots.

Newgate —well, the captain, Jozu really _has_ to get used to this— speaks.

“How much do you know about the islands around here?” he asks Jozu.

“What I’ve heard. Why?”

“I’m just not sure where to go next. It’s too early to head to the Grand Line.”

“Are you looking for more crewmembers?” Jozu asks, his mind going to the few rumors he has heard about nearby islands. Despite how strong they are, Jozu doubts that many people would choose to join a crew with such an odd structure. It’d have to be someone lonely and desperate. A poor island, maybe? It’s more likely to find someone like that at one of those.

The captain surprises Jozu by shaking his head.

“No, not now,” he replies, and Jozu doesn’t think he imagines the quick glance he throws in Marco’s direction. Marco is distractedly slicing carrots. “Just somewhere interesting. With pirates, maybe.” There is another very quick glance at Marco. “I think it’d be a good test for our crew.”

Jozu hums, and stops himself from glancing at Marco as well. There is definitely something he is missing here.

“There’s a pretty infamous port a few islands over.”

 

* * *

 

 

Marco is in the navigator’s room, deciding their route to the island Jozu mentioned. He knows Pops would have chosen a different destination if Marco had said that he didn’t want to risk a fight, but the truth is that Marco enjoys the freedom that fighting brings him, and he is growing more confident in his skills.

It’s a long trip, maybe ten days if they go straight there, so Marco plans a stop in the way. Depending on how things turn out, they may not be able to buy any supplies at their destination, so Marco thinks it’s best if they don’t have the need to buy them.

He’ll show Pops the route later to ask about it, but right now Pops has dragged Jozu to the training room to test him and is no doubt wiping the floor with him. Marco would have gone, but he doesn’t want to risk being asked to join in a fight.

 

* * *

 

 

Jozu is sore all over. He already knew the captain was strong, but he wasn’t expecting to get his ass so thoroughly kicked.

Dragging himself out of bed is far more difficult than he expected, but Jozu is thirsty enough for the effort to be worth it.

He’s barely conscious on his way to the kitchen to pay attention to his surroundings, but his eyes are fully open when he leaves the kitchen and the moonlight allows him to spot the small figure curled up to one side on the deck.

Jozu considers taking Marco back to bed, but discards the idea. It’s summer and there isn’t a cloud in the sky, so Marco won’t catch a cold for sleeping out here.

Marco is fast asleep, and despite the dark Jozu realizes that this is the most relaxed he has seen Marco’s face so far.


	33. Breakfast Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of an hour ago or so, it’s May 20th where I live, which means I’m (sadly) a year older officially. As I usually do this day, I’m posting all the updates I have ready :) They aren’t many this year, but still I got a few and I hope you’ll review, because they’re the best birthday presents I can receive :D
> 
> There isn’t much to say about this chapter, it wasn't as hard to write as the previous one. Hope you like it :)

Marco is the first one awake that morning. It’s not odd, given how he rolled away from the position he settled in on deck last night and the sun hit him straight on the face at dawn.

He doesn’t mind being awake. He’s at the kitchen now, putting some food together for breakfast for himself. He finds it comforting, this freedom to eat on his own whenever he wants, without the need of having anyone there to give him permission to eat. It took him some time to get used to the idea, and even longer to dare to eat without Pops being present, but now it is something that he enjoys immensely. It’s a way for him to relax, a reminder to himself that he is free now and can do as he pleases.

It may be a small thing, but munching on some toast while he fries the bacon that he is going to eat does wonders to dispel the tension from the last couple of days.

Then he senses someone moving in the cabin. Jozu. Pops is still quiet, probably asleep.

Marco’s tension floods straight back in.

Pops is asleep, and Jozu seems to be getting ready to start his day. That means they will have to interact. Without Pops there to act as a buffer.

Marco glances down at his bacon. It’s almost done, so maybe he can put it on a plate and disappear up on the crow’s nest before Jozu comes into the kitchen.

He freezes.

_No_ , he thinks sharply, and shakes his head. He’s not fleeing. He can’t keep fleeing and hiding. Marco had his chance to outright refuse letting Jozu join the crew, but he acknowledged that the crew needed more people and agreed to give Jozu a chance. He has to own up to his own choice now and actually _give Jozu that chance_. Marco will never know whether the crew works or not if he keeps running and hiding. He’s a mess, yes, and he probably won’t be able to keep up the charade that he is a normal person for long. So what? Let Jozu think Marco is odd. It’s not as if Jozu will figure out the truth simply by watching his failings and quirks. Slavery was officially outlawed many years ago, after all. There are probably a good deal of other conclusions Jozu can reach to explain Marco’s weirdness that will seem much more likely to him than the truth.

Comforted by this last realization and determined to not ruin Pops’ dream, Marco breathes deeply, takes another calming bite off his toast and remains where he is.

All he has to do, he decides, is act as if he was interacting with Pops. That’s Marco’s definition of normal nowadays.

 

* * *

 

 

Jozu yawns again as he steps out of the bathroom. He glances into the cabin, where the captain is still fast asleep, before heading for the kitchen. He doesn’t need to check if Marco is still sleeping outside, because there is no one else who could be cooking breakfast right now, and Jozu can smell the bacon as he approaches the kitchen.

Marco is standing by the stove, his back to the door, and he is munching on some toast as he cooks.

“Morning,” Jozu greets him, trying not to yawn again.

“Good morning,” Marco greets back without turning around. He starts moving the bacon to a plate on the counter.

Damn, but that smells good.

Jozu glances around until he spots the coffee maker, which is empty and clearly unused. He raises his eyebrows.

“You don’t drink coffee?” Jozu asks, surprised.

“I don’t like it,” Marco replies, and Jozu belatedly realizes that he sounds surprisingly awake for someone who hasn’t had any coffee. Lucky kid, he’s a morning person. “It’s up there if you want some,” Marco adds, pointing to his right and up, to one of the top cabinets.

“Thanks,” Jozu mumbles, heading for that cabinet. He can reach it easily enough, but Marco would need to drag over the table and a chair on top of it to get there. Jozu guesses it makes sense; if they have coffee at all it means the captain drinks it, and it’s reasonable to put the things Marco doesn’t like on the higher shelves he can’t reach.

Jozu starts up a full pot of coffee, figuring if the captain drinks it he might appreciate having it ready when he wakes up.

A plate of bacon is placed next to him on the counter. Jozu looks down at it, blinks, and then looks at Marco, who is walking to the fridge.

“Isn’t this your breakfast?”

“Yeah, but you don’t look like you can use the stove right now,” Marco replies, kind of flippantly, as he opens the fridge and leans into it.

Jozu blinks again, surprised. Marco has been pretty silent around Jozu so far, to the point that Jozu started to think him either shy or not very sociable, but it seems that he has decided to make a bit of an effort to actually speak now.

Half-asleep or not, Jozu can appreciate it.

“Thanks. I can make more toast at least,” he offers, noticing the empty plate with only some bread crumbs next to the stove.

“Okay,” Marco replies. He closes the fridge again, a pack of bacon and an apple in his hands, and he bites on the apple before heading back to the stove.

Jozu shakes his head and reaches for the bread. Marco really _is_ a bottomless pit if he intended to eat all the bacon on the plate and whatever else he’s already gone through.


End file.
